SCP
by autobotgirl12328
Summary: I have no name. They took it when I arrived. My family and my friends, they all thought I was dead. As far as the world knew, we were all dead. At first, when the Foundation approached me about the job, it sounded exciting, but now that I'm here, I can hardly feel my legs. They lined us all up. All these people were here for the same reason. We'd been chosen for a suicide mission.
1. Prologue

**Mankind in its present state has been around for a quarter of a million years, yet only the last 4,000 have been of any significance.**

So, what did we do for nearly 250,000 years? We huddled in caves and around small fires, fearful of the things that we didn't understand. It was more than explaining why the sun came up, it was the mystery of enormous birds with heads of men and rocks that came to life. So we called them 'gods' and 'demons', begged them to spare us, and prayed for salvation.

In time, their numbers dwindled and ours rose. The world began to make more sense when there were fewer things to fear, yet the unexplained can never truly go away, as if the universe demands the absurd and impossible.

 **Mankind must not go back to hiding in fear.** No one else will protect us, and we must stand up for ourselves.

While the rest of mankind dwells in the light, we must stand in the darkness to fight it, contain it, and shield it from the eyes of the public, so that others may live in a sane and normal world.

 **We secure. We contain. We protect.**

 **—** **The Administrator**


	2. I

I

I have no name. They took it when I arrived. My family and my friends, they all thought I was dead. As far as the world knew, we were all dead. At first, when the Foundation approached me about the job, I was excited. A somewhat secret organization was interested in my contribution and me. It sounded exciting, but now that I'm here, I can hardly feel my legs. They lined us all up, no name and no past. All these people were here for the same reason. We'd been chosen for a suicide mission.

I was picked up at a gas station outside of my hometown. The sun was barely up, just turning the sky orange around the peeks of the hills. I was staring at it when the truck pulled up. It was unmarked, no plates. The driver was dressed in a white uniform with a cap to cover his hair and eyes. They had this special code phrase so I knew it was them. Apparently, they had had a problem with kidnapping by other organizations and rapists. He looked at me, shadowy eyes, and told me to get into the back.

My knees shook as I stepped around to the back. The doors opened from the inside by two large men dressed in white, similar to the man in front. They're eyes were shadowed, covered in the dim light of the truck. There were about twenty people in the back of the truck. They ranged from skinny to chubby, tall and short, brown and white. Each clung unto their sack of belongings. Depending on how they held it conveyed how fearful they were. The confidence between the man resting the bag on his knees to the man clutching his so hard that it scrunched around him was evident. I gulped.

I sat near the door, between one of the gatemen and an older man, probably in his forties. The gate man was tall, around six foot no doubt, dressed in white, though it hardly seemed to fit him. The hat covered his hair but I could see the slip of black hair leaking from his cap. I could not see his eyes; apart from one moment he caught me staring him. They were dark and almost soulless. I quickly turned away.

The older man sat with his bag at his feet, tucked between his legs. His hands were on his knees, eyes staring forward. Though he appeared calm on the surface, looking long enough showed the truth of this man. He was afraid. His hair, a light brown, was clumped to his forehead, watered down by the sweat and tears. I say tears because his eyes were red and cheeks flush. It seemed like this was a tough decision. I could understand that.

"I had a wife," he spoke up after an hour into our drive. His voice was hushed, lowered so as to be between us as apposed to everyone overhearing. Even then, the containment was so quiet that it was impossible to be completely secretive.

I didn't know how to respond to him, so I merely nodded. He sniffled in response, quickly moving one hand to rub his nose. I could hear someone cough but I hoped that was merely a coincident.

"Wife, two kids…little boy and girl. My boy…he'll turn ten next month," the men chocked with each word. "My girl's gonna go to…gonna go to college."

"I'm sure they're something special," I whispered, patting his knee.

"We needed the money," he sobbed, shutting his eyes. Another person coughed.

"I was going to college to become a…anthropologist," a young woman spoke up, leaning forward.

She was about three people down on the opposite side as us. Young, beautiful, skin the color of light chocolate milk, and eyes the size of tennis balls. They glimmered somehow in the dark and peered gently at us. She was dressed in a light purple shirt, which was thin and long, stretching down past her hip where they meet her torn up jeans. Her bag was small, smaller than the average person's.

"Ants?" another person perked. Young man, rather nondescript.

"Anthropology," grinned the girl. "Study of culture, language…"

"Boring," someone snorted.

The girl curled her lip, glaring at the man. He did not look at her or speak again. She turned back to us, returning to her friendly smile. The older man's eyes were more relaxed now, gently looking over at the young girl. They seemed to be connecting on this long drive. It was better than doing nothing, I suppose. They talked more, mostly about college. His little girl was the first child of their family to go to college. He was very proud.

"We needed the money…" he sighed. "Not too many jobs for a man like me. So…these guys offered me…I couldn't refuse."

"What are we even doing?" snapped someone in the back.

"Quiet down!" shouted one of the guardsmen.

Apparently, silence was a more liked approach to this kind of travel. I can't image sitting though hundreds of these kinds of drives with hundreds of different people from hundreds of different cities. They've probably heard every story. They probably don't care about us newcomers. We're nothing but blank slates to them. A faceless shadow. A dead man walking.

I fell asleep at some point during the drive, awaking at the sudden sharp stop that occurred upon arrival at the facility. Barely conscious, like several others, the doors opened loudly and the light poured in sharply. Everyone groaned, attempting to block the incoming light. Once the light began to fade, the silhouettes of darkly cladded men appeared before the truck doors.

"Get out!" A loud voice howled at us.

The guardsmen reached out, grabbing me by the arm. His grip was tight, almost to the point of severe pain. He tugged quickly, tossing me out of the truck. My feet stumbled but managed to keep steady. Other people started flooding out of the truck, revealing a surprising amount of people that I had once been stored with. I could hardly breath anymore. Everything was becoming so real.

Lined up. Toy soldiers. Blank faces. The facility walls were steel, stuck together by large rivets, and stretched up for what seemed like miles above our heads. The ceiling was lined with industrial lights, echoing a minor hum. The beams kept the walls apart and lights from falling upon our heads. They added to the eerie feeling this entire building presented upon arrival.

The two gatemen stood on either side of a tall man in a finely pressed suit and long flowing trench coat. He was dark haired, fair skinned, and rather thin. Thick sunglasses that reflected the dim lights from overhead hid his eyes. The worst part about him was the sickly grin he held upon his lip. He enjoyed seeing us lined up, weary and dead inside already.

"Welcome," he announced, voice booming over us. "This is one of the many SCP facilities, however, it is a rather low ranking facility. You have been selected to work for us. For starters, let me just say this job is not easy."

A few people gulped. Another few murmured. Reality was setting in for a lot of us.

"Being Class D, you will be expected to personally handle some of the more…unpredictable anomalies. These anomalies are often referred to as SCPs. Some people think this is funny, seeing as that is how they are classified and numbered. I don't find that entertaining." He rolled his eyes with this.

He turned to the men either side of him and snapped his fingers. The two men stepped forward, walking into our line up and shoving people to either side. It took me a moment to realize they were splitting us up based upon gender. I felt the rough grip of one of the guardsmen, tightly wrapping his fingers around my shoulder and quickly shoving me to one side.

"For new Class D personnel, we prefer dormitory style. Naturally, we don't particularly like the mixing of genders in case of…incidents whether voluntary or not. These men will guide you to your dorms…after our little introduction," the man instructed. "Shall we begin?"

There was a murmur of conversation, which was quickly silenced by the guardsmen on either side. A chill ran down my spine.

"As previous stated, you are now Class D personnel. You are one of the lowest classes. You will not interact with Class A or B personnel or you will be terminated. If you have not proven usefulness by the end of the month, you will be returned to your home life with no memory of this facility, location, or what we contain here. Why am I telling you this? Because I find all of you as peasants and beneath my interest but I am required to do these introductions once a year.

"Some of you will be field agents and some of you will remain on site to maintain containment and assist in researching. I don't know or care which is which at this time. Either way, some important rules. Don't underestimate any of the SCPs. Even Safe class SCPs can be strange. Don't ask for names if they are not given to you. Believe it or not, this is a somewhat secret facility and we'd like to keep it that way. Also, don't give your name unless asked. Don't get me wrong…it is both for your safety and the fact that no one really cares.

"SCP classes are important and don't confuse them! Safe class is exactly as it's named. Safe class SCPs are understood and contained. They aren't threatening unless triggered. So…don't trigger them unless instructed by a higher ranked researcher. Even safe class SCPs can be dangerous. Like I said, don't underestimate them. It's here for a reason, folks. Such SCPs can range from videotapes, such as SCP-1981, to SCP-1025. Speaking of SCP-1025, some SCPs can change classes, even drastically. Keep that in mind.

"Euclid class is what you will most likely be experiencing. They aren't well known and unpredictable. They might seem human. They might be sentient. Don't let that fool you! They can be incredibly dangerous, tricky and sometime pure evil. These are very common SCPs. While you work here, you will most likely hear about SCP-173, a very famous SCP in one of our more secure facilities. Few of you will exactly get to see it. Some of these…are fatal so good luck.

"Finally, Keter class is…serious. No joking matter. They are life threatening to individuals, the facility and the world. This is why we are here people! These are also top secret in most accounts. If you find yourself going over the files, you'll find a majority of it classified and redacted. Most likely, none of you will deal with this type of class. If you…well, it was nice seeing you," he snorted at that last line. If anyone had been murmuring before hand, they were silent now.

"Alright, that's about it," he grumbled, rolling his eyes. "Go…shoo."

The two guardsmen led us away. Only about eight of the twenty people that were in the truck were female. We were all rather young, varying in height, stature, and skin tone. I knew the one from the truck as the anthropology, but otherwise all the other females were strangers. One girl was rounded, another was taller than the rest of us, two appeared to be twins, one appeared to be a sec change and the last appeared to be of Indian descent. None of us talked to each other. We didn't even exchange looks.

We were let into our dorms which comprised of about ten bunk beds with a dark blue blank tightly tucked in. We each chose a bunk - only the twins shared - and began unpacking. A few people unpacked pictures and pillows, some brought blankets and books. I only brought a picture of me with my parents and an old blanket my aunt made for me. Naturally, I also brought a bushel of clothes, nothing too extravagant but something that would keep me going.

"Lights out!" the guardsmen ordered.

"But we just got here," snapped the rounded girl.

"Lights out!" the guardsmen repeated, turning off the lights.

We sat in darkness, until someone finally moved. Eventually, everyone shuffled into place, curling up into their own beds. I heard someone cry. They cried for what felt like hours. No one said a word. No one comforted her. We all merely listened. Once she stopped, I wish I had done something. I wish I had cried too.


	3. II

II

The morning came early. Having no windows, the only symbol of day was when a woman in a white lab coat stormed in and relentlessly turned the lights on. We all groaned, slowly raising our heads. She merely stood there in the bright doorway, waiting for us to breath life and begin moving. Her look was stern with darkened eyes and thinly pressed lips. Dressed in a tight, well pressed, deep blue suit shirt and skirt, she shimmed toward the center of the room.

"Rise and shine, Class Ds!" she howled, sounding like a hammer pounding on a metal board. "I don't have time to deal with you right now so get up and get out of here!"

We all moved slowly, slinking out of our beds and getting dressed. None of us were quite coordinated, apart from the young girl from Indian descent, who appeared to be quite the morning person. She leapt out of bed and was dressed before anyone. Oddly enough though, she waited for us and even helped one of the twins get up and dressed. She acted almost like a motherly figure to the two of them, handing them clothes and brushing their hair. It was nice to see in such a frigged and cold place such as this.

The stern faced woman was waiting outside, arms crossed and eyes narrowed. She didn't greet us or acknowledge us, only merely leading us along to the main room we were first in. The men greeted us there, led by their own instructor. They all resembled us in equally tired and weary as we were. Nonetheless, we awaited our instructions with mild attention. The woman who'd awoken us teamed up with the men's instructor and stood before us, each with a stern expression.

"Morning," announced the man, voice dry like sandpaper. "We're dishing out assignment papers now. Hope you didn't get too comfortable last night, some of you are gonna head out as field agents. If you aren't a field agent, you'll stay here for research purposes. Don't argue with us. This is final."

The two began handing out papers, starting from both sides of the line up. I was somewhere in the middle, watching both sides slowly approach me with their papers. I could hear people whimper, cry and snicker. I gulped, feeling my heart race in my chest. I could feel the blood pumping and each breath that shuffled through my lungs. The twins were beside me. One of them was handed a paper and then the other. The two exchanged looks and began to hug in sobbing breaths. They were getting separated.

"Here," snapped the woman, shoving the papers into my hands.

My fingers tightened around the page, hands shaking. I gave a deep sigh and lowered my eyes to the page. I skimmed through the introduction information like welcome and all that. Finally, toward the bottom of the page, was listed my assignment. I shut my eyes and gave a sigh of relief, reading the fact that I was staying on site. I'm not sure why this felt better than fieldwork, as they were technically the same thing.

"Move!" ordered the man.

Everyone began shuffling around, sorting themselves into away and stay agents. A majority of the group were field agents, leaving a little less than half of us as remaining researchers. We watched as suited guardsmen appeared, opening up the doors of a truck none of us had noticed. They began to murmur, looking around. They were leaving now with none of their belongings and no warning.

"You will be taken to your respective assignment," instructed the man, motioning them away.

"What about our things?" gasped one of the agents.

"I can't leave without the picture of my family!" shouted another.

None of the suited men or the two lab coated attendants said anything. They exchanged looks a moment then the male attendant glared at the guardsmen. They nodded, grabbing the two outspoken agents and dragging them into the truck. Several others spoke up, arguing and shouting, but the guardsmen and many others that appeared from elsewhere in the building silenced them all. We watched as each of the field agents were dragged away, crying and shouting for their personal belongings that they were promised.

"This isn't right…" whispered one of the twins. "They can't just take them away…they can't just pull us away."

The young anthropologist I met at the start of the trip rested a hand upon her shoulder. We watched the truck doors shut, silencing all the men and women inside. The engine started with a pop and a growl. Then it took off, screeching its tires and rolling away at great speed. We stood in awe, watching people we had barely met drive into the distance and the large vault doors shutting with a loud bang. The lock slammed down with a great clatter that echoed upon the bare walls.

"Now, some of you will be sent to different facilities around the world," announced the woman, attempting to regain our focus. "By some I mean very few. Look over your papers again and step forward if you've been assigned outside of here."

We all looked over our papers again. I slowly rechecked mine. Nothing special was listed, only stating that I would be stationed at my current location. A few people around me stepped forward though, including the anthropologist. She wore a brave face, staring forward, pressing her lips together so as not to cry. A small van drove forward, appearing from off to the side. The individuals who stepped forward were ushered into the van. There were no more than five of them. The side doors banged shut and ended with a click. The van took off from a small exit just off to the side of the vault door.

"To our remaining Class D personnel," called the man, "You will be given orders each morning, assigned to a different researcher each day, and a different SCP depending on the severity of the events in the facility."

"We are here to Secure, contain and protect, team. That is the end game and don't forget it," added the woman. "You are expendable…the SCPs are not."

They left with that. They left the few of us that were left, standing in the humming lights waiting for instruction. I could hear everyone breathing heavily. Each of us was rather twitchy, jumping at the sound of the lights clicking and flickering as well as approaching footsteps. Eventually, after a moment of waiting, another person arrived. He was the first person we'd seen we greeted us with a smile. Well-dressed, freshly washed hair and bright eyes.

"Hello, sorry I'm late. I got caught up in a…uh…situation," he nodded, clapping his hands together and looking around. "They needed a lot of field agents this time, huh? That's fine…make do with who we have."

"What's going to happen to us…?" whimpered the last twin.

"Well, we've got some simple jobs and whatnot here," he hummed, looking over us. "Don't worry, nothing like scrubbing the toilets or any of that. Most of the SCPs here are Safe or contained Euclid that require clean up or samples. I will comment that some Safe classed SCPs are allowed to wander, given they're…nonlethal qualities."

"Are we gettin' paid?" someone hissed, sounding already displeased with what he'd signed up for.

"Hmm? Oh yes," replied the man. "Quite a good amount of money will be placed in your bank accounts upon leaving, assuming you do."

Taken out of context, the phrase sounded quite ominous but with the man's cheerful and accent filled tone it was almost pleasant to hear. He nodded again, looking around as if not sure what to say next. You could see the thoughts turning in his head. He even hummed a little tune as he thought. Eventually, an idea struck him, and he looked up at us once more.

"I should assign jobs for today. Nothing too hard seeing as it is your first day," he grinned. "Um…you two can check on some of the containment cells for SCPs 005, 014, 038 and 1981. You, sir, can help work with SCP-010. It's not hard, just do as they say. I need three of you brave souls to help clean up the containment cell of SCP-173. It takes three and you need to be briefed beforehand."

I watched as the six people left, leaving but two of us including myself. The young man rocked on his heels, looking over us with narrowed eyes as he thought of where to place us. Once again I could almost see the gears in his head turning, clinking together softly. His eyes lit up like light bulbs and his heels clicked onto the floor.

"Sir, can you send food to the guards down by SCP-914. Down the hall, to the left, research cell 109-B. They'll be two guards there and they should be hungry by now," the man nodded, grandly bowing and motioning with one arm for the other man to walk away.

"And finally you, my little princess, you have the grand job of helping with research of SCP-1230," he smirked, tilting his head lightly.

I gulped.

"Don't worry, my dear! This SCP has been confirmed safe class. They like people with good imaginations to test," he explained, offering his arm to me. "I can escort you."

"Thank you," I whispered, wrapping my arm around his. "I'm not sure what to think about all this."

"It is a lot to take in," he agreed. "I remember my first day. It was insane. I've seen things here that only mad man could dream of."

This was not helpful.

"What is…SCP…" I'd forgotten the number almost immediately and struggled to recall it. The man laughed, having to place a hand upon his heart.

"SCP-1230. Don't worry about the numbers. Few people will actually ask you to know them," he chuckled. "SCP-1230 is a book which can incite quite realistic dreams, assuming the reader is imaginative. There aren't any lasting effects so far but they always like to keep the information current. Nothing to be nervous about."

"It's safe class?" I questioned.

"Yes, dear. Only one person has died during testing," he sighed, revealing the first sad tone I'd heard from he thus far. "His fantasy was too real and too long. He could not readjust back to normal life and so he took his own life shortly after reawaking."

"I…I'm sorry to hear that," I mumbled, not knowing what else to say.

"After a while…death means very little," he whispered, almost completely unheard under his breath.

The way he spoke was softly dark like a rolling grey cloud before a torrent downpour. His eyes seemed to gloss over, hiding the once bright glimmer with a darkened shadow. Brow furrowed and lips hard-pressed, he turned to me slowly. Everything went cold as he stared at me, with nothing heard beside our distinctly resonant footsteps. I could feel the lump in my throat, choking on all the fears I wanted to scream out at once.

"We're here," he offered, voice still rather low and grave.

He propped open a thick metal door, revealing a brightly lit room. It was longer than it was wide, slender and baring a window on one wall which overlooked into another empty room with only a podium in the center. An elder man, hunched over a clipboard, hardly acknowledged our arrival but merely waved us in.

"This one of the new Class Ds?" the old man questioned sharply.

"Yes. I'm sure she'll be helpful," nodded my escort. "Positive so far and still open."

"You stay here long enough and we'll beat that out of you," hissed the old man, leaning in until he was an inch from the tip of my nose. "Use the door over there and enter the room."

"In there?" I asked softly.

"Yes," he instructed, standing up straight and returning to his clipboard.

"Good luck," offered my escort, leaving the room and shutting the door behind him. It closed with a click.

"This isn't hard," the old man assured. "Read the first page and then come back in."

"That's it?" I perked.

"Afterward, we'll move down a room and you'll go to sleep," he added.

"Huh?" I murmured.

"You'll understand later," grumbled the old man, opening the door for me.

"R-right," I gulped, entering the connecting room.

It was a clean white, with no seams or dirt patches. It smelled of cleanliness, glistening in the vivid overhead lights. The door shut behind me quietly. I glanced behind me, seeing the old man working on his clipboard. He didn't seem interested in me at all. I returned my eyes to the podium. On top of the sparkling clean stand was a worn green book. It was unlabeled, bind broken and well used. The cover was rough to the touch, feeling like an old cloth hardback. My fingers wrapped around it, feeling the texture on the tips of each hand as I lifted it.

"Just read the first page…" I repeated, attempting to calm myself.

A few of my fingers slipped off the cover and opened the book gently to the front page. It smelled like an old book should and reminded me of my grandparents. The pages were smooth but uneven on the edge. In the center of the first page were only four words: "A hero is born." It was so simple and the calmest thing I'd seen this entire experience thus far. I couldn't help but flip through the rest of the book, reviewing the other blank pages. Apart from the first page, there was nothing else written in the book.

"That's all there is in the book, kid," snapped the old man from the other side of the class. "No point looking for anything else."

"Why does it say a hero is born?" I questioned, setting the book back on its stand.

"Not important," the man grumbled. "Get moving, kid. We don't have all day."

I reentered the other room, gently closing the door behind me. The old man pulled out a cluttered set of keys that jingled and clattered together. He spun the keys around, eventually finding one and inserted it into the door. Upon turning it, locks loudly slammed into place. The lights shut off in the podium room except for a set of red emergency lights.

"Follow me," he ordered, shoving the set of keys back into his pocket.

We left the slender room, once again locking it behind us. This door was secured with a card scanner rather than keys. He led me to the adjacent room, throwing open the door to show a small room with a couple of beds. Also within the room were a series of machines and devices I'd seen in hospitals. He switched the lights on, barely lighting the room.

"Lie down," he instructed.

"Pardon me?" I perked.

"Lie…down," he repeated, this time more stern and almost growling at me.

I rolled into one of the beds, feeling the uncomfortable spring loaded mattress and worn out, flat pillow. Upon lying down, he handed me a few circular pads. He motioned to place them upon my chest, under my shirt. They stuck neatly, feeling remarkably cold upon my bare skin. While I was attaching my devices, he was placing a few on my head. He then ordered me to lie back and close my eyes.

"What's…going on?" I whimpered, peering up at him.

"Close your eyes and don't ask questions," he snapped. "We need to register your brain waves."

"Shouldn't you…I don't know…take these before and after the test to get a base reading?" I sheepishly smirked.

"Shut up and go to sleep," he growled, glaring at me over his clipboard.

I sighed, closing my eyes slowly. The machines let off a gentle metallic hum, vibrating down the wires to my chest. The lights were dimmed and the old man sounded as if he'd wandered away. Then, there was silence. Not a sound was heard apart from my breathing. Even that slowed to the point where I hardly registered it in my mind. Everything faded and then there was nothing.

And then there was something.


	4. III

III

In my dream, I was a warrior princess. I had long luxurious hair that, when covered in sunlight, shimmered rainbow and glowed. My main weapon was a steel blade with the handle made from dragon scales. It could slice through anything with the greatest of ease, like a knife through butter. My squire was a beautiful young man by the name of Robert, who not so secretly loved me. Together, we had a pure bred golden retriever. As a threesome, we defeated an evil sorcerer and defended the land from his tyranny.

Within the dream, I met a man. He looked like a grandparent, with a long white beard, bushy eyebrows, and wrinkles that emphasized his smile upon meeting me. His green cloak wrapped around him like a warm blanket, hiding all his body apart from his head and shoes, which were pointed black. He expressed himself amicably, telling me plainly that he was SCP-1230-1 or rather known as "The Book Keeper". He preferred to be called the latter but knew the procedure of the Foundation and would respond to being called by his SCP number. We had a lengthy conversation about the Foundation.

"I've been here a while," he spoke, "Though time is quite meaningless in a dream-scape such as this."

I agreed with him, saying though it felt like I'd been here a while, in all reality I'd only been sleeping a few minutes. He said I was very aware of the difference between reality and dream. He said that he enjoyed having dreamers such as that, after an incident, which he didn't want to elaborate on.

"I heard about something," I offered. "I heard there was man who stayed too long. He didn't want to come back."

"I tried to make him happy," he sighed, "but even I couldn't keep him forever. As soon as he'd left I knew. I knew what would become of him. I didn't want to lose another dreamer like that again."

"I'm sorry to hear that," I whispered. "I promise I won't do that."

"Not everyone is like that man, nor will I make such mistakes again," he snapped. "I do hope that I will be moved soon, though. I would like to be returned to a library."

"A book does belong in a library," I joked.

"A library could expand my creations," he explained. "So that I might further help my dreamers."

"That sounds like a wonderful idea."

I awoke shortly after my conversation with him, after I saved the village of course. The researchers asked me questions, specifically what I could remember and what I did. I explained as best I could, including my conversation with the Book Keeper. They appreciated that the most, quickly excusing me afterward. I stood outside the door, listening to pens writing and words being exchanged. I hope I did that right.

Having no instructions or further jobs, I wandered the halls, peering into windowed rooms. A majority of them were empty and resembled the clean, white room that held the SCP I had encountered. There were a few that were dimly lit, with shadowy figures lurking in them. I watched the shadows move, each twitch setting my heart off into a race. There could be anything in that room. It could kill me on sight. It could save the world. It could end it. Whatever it was.

"It's a lot to take in…"

I turned around. The man from earlier, the one who had escorted me, was standing behind me, looking as though he stopped mid-walk in order to engage me in conversation. He held a pile of papers between his hands and his chin. It looked as though the glimmer in his eyes had returned as well as his smile.

"I guess so," I replied gently.

"Finished?"

"Hmm?"

"With your task? Working with SCP-1230?"

"Oh, oh yes," I perked, blushing in my own stupidity.

"You could help me with this," he offered, almost sounding as if he was pleading. "I've got a lot of these I need to give out."

I stepped over, taking half the folders from him. He winked at me, stepping forward. I allowed him to walk two steps in front of me, remaining close to his side. His pants swished together, creating a sound that was borderline annoying. Nonetheless, he had pep in his step, moving relaxed and softly through the hall. I couldn't find a thing to say, merely watching him walk and hum to himself.

"I've been working here almost three years," he spoke up. "I used to be a Class D, you know, Level 2 clearance, bottom of the pole kinda guy. I moved up, mostly because the researchers like me. I went up to Level 3, then Level 4. Class C, Class B. I get evacuated if bad stuff happens, you know!"

"Wait, what?"

"Not important," he interrupted. "I've seen a lot of things. If you stay out of trouble, get lucky, do as you're told, you'll get out of here just fine or you'll get a choice to stay. If you stay, of course, it'll get more dangerous. That's why it pays better, though."

"Why are you telling me this?"

"You looked down, though I can't imagine why after interacting with SCP-1230. People are usually so happy after that. Well-rested and full of life!"

"You ever been tested with SCP-1…" I'd forgotten the number again. The gentleman didn't seem to mind again, simply continuing on ahead and nodded.

"I dreamt I was a prince. I had fallen in love with a beautiful woman, who was controlled by an evil father. Me and my brother - did I mention I had a brother? – We fought our way to the maiden and rescued her. We were all very happy. I cried when I woke up."

"You had a brother?" How was that the only thing I had gotten from that story?

"Yeah. When we were little, he got sick…" The shimmer in his eyes faded again. It was sober, faded light like a memory long ago. "I loved him. He was so young and full of life."

"I'm sure he's in a better place," I suggested.

"You believe in such a thing?" He seemed insulted by my statement, turning to look at me.

"Yes."

He scoffed, facing forward again.

He led me into a different part of the building. The halls were lined with art pieces, and the rooms had no windows to look inside. A few doors were left ajar, revealing a sliver of the room within. Getting barely a glance, it looked like an office with a simple desk, cabinet, and a lamp. I did not see any people within the rooms, but I could hear the chairs squeaking, papers shuffling, and the filing cabinet's opening or closing. Without all the hype and treatment beforehand, it seemed like a common business place. I think I'd even seen a place like this back home.

Eventually, we stopped at a door. The plaque had no name, simply stating "Containment Specialist" with a note beneath saying "Clearance Level 3 – Secret." I stood outside as the gentleman entered with the first half of the stack. The door shut behind him, but I could hear the overall tone of their conversation. Greetings were exchanged, the papers were placed down, more pleasantries and suddenly a hearty laugh from the both of them, followed by silence as if the two had reverted to hushed tones in anticipation of my eavesdropping. Without warning, the door opened.

"Come here," the gentleman ordered, holding the door open for me.

I entered wearily, careful to keep my half of the stack balanced. The room was small, something like a cubicle, with two paintings on the back and left wall. The desk was up against the back, with a desk lamp, laptop and main computer resting comfortably on top. Two metal chairs rested on the wall beside the door. The man behind the desk was older than the two of us but wasn't quite elder. He had reading glasses, which were precariously placed on the tip of his nose. Pale and thin faced, he glanced up from his observation of the papers in the stack to greet us with a grin.

"You've just your clearance boosted, didn't you?" he greeted.

"What?" I mumbled.

"Oh, nothing. You don't understand everything yet, that's fine," he chuckled, waving me off. "Class Ds are given Level 2 Clearance. My existence is a Level 3 Clearance."

I think I understood that.

"Mr. Thompson here says you're quite the optimist," the man continued, gesturing toward the other man. "Thompson is a good kid, when he wants to be."

The gentleman – Thompson – chuckled, taking one of the metal seats and placing it in front of the desk. He sat in it backwards, facing me. The light in his eyes had returned with a twisted grin as if he were a child planning to steal from the cookie jar. I took the last metal chair, sitting just beside the door. Without either of us to keep it open, the door shut with a clank.

"You're not from 'round here, are you, miss?" the man asked. "Thompson was."

"No, I'm from quite a ways away," I answered quietly.

"No need to be shy, my dear!" the man chortled. "I don't bite. I'm the last thing to be afraid of in this complex!"

Thompson laughed. I tried to laugh, but it just sounded fake. Neither of them seemed to notice though. I hadn't noticed that the stack of papers had been taken from me and added to the desk. The man was flipping through them, pressing up his glasses up every now or then. Thompson would glance between us as if to make sure we acknowledged his existence.

"Things been going well your first day?" the man suddenly spoke.

"Oh. Oh yes," I replied, almost glad for a change of subject.

"SCP-1230 isn't anything to worry about. It'll be transferred soon."

"To the library?"

The man looked up from his papers just as Thompson did. I felt like the hands of my own anxiety were squeezing my throat. Thompson scoffed again, though this time it sounded almost like a chuckle. The man grinned as well, nodding to me.

"He told you, did he? Well, good for him."

"He was very nice. Friendly, even."

"He is one of the more gentle of SCPs," added Thompson, resting his chin on one hand. "Just pray you never get clean up duty for SCP-17-"

The door was thrown open, almost crushing me. Thompson jumped to his feet as another officer entered the room in a huff. He wore bulletproof chest armor, knee and elbow pads, boots up to his knees, a holster at his hip, and a rifle in his hands. He saluted to the man behind the desk. The older man nodded, and the other stopped saluting. Thompson stepped over, grabbing me by the arm to force me to stand.

"We need to leave," he whispered in my ear.

"Sir!" the soldier announced. "We had a containment error for SCP-173. During the clean up process, one of the Class D personnel did not follow protocol."

"Casualties?" the man replied, returning his gaze to his papers.

"Come with me," Thompson whispered to me again, dragging me toward the door.

"Two of the three recruits died. The third managed to survive, barely. He has been moved to Class E containment," the soldier continued. "Medical staff is proceeding currently."

"Thank you, officer," the man replied.

The soldier saluted once more, exiting the room in a similar manor as he'd arrived. Thompson's grip on my arm remained tight as we rounded the open door to exit. He glanced back at the man behind the desk.

"Will that be all, doctor?" he asked.

"That will be all, Mr. Thompson. Be sure to update our new friend's clearance otherwise she'll be forcefully discharged."

He spoke so casually, like being 'forcefully discharged' was a normal and not at all terrifying statement. Thompson nodded, dragging me out of the room. The door slammed behind us, clicking as the lock moved into place.

"Don't speak of this to anyone," Thompson growled, spinning me around so as to face him. "Tell this to anyone and you will be-"

"Forcefully discharged," I finished for him.

"It's worse than it sounds," he snickered, leaning in close. "Welcome to the Foundation."


	5. IV

A/N

My computer basically self-destructed a few months ago and I lost everything and in turn I completely forgot about this story. Recently, I've been revisiting some of my favorite CreepyPastas which in turn led me back to SCP and this story that I worked oddly hard on researching. All my research is gone T-T

Be prepared for shitty chapters while I try to get back into the grove.

IV

I felt sick. I sat on my bunk, staring blankly at the wall. I had finished first. After the events with Thompson, I was left in the dormitory area, given a coupon for a free smoothie at the canteen. My hands shook when I took it. I'm not entirely sure I was aware of what was happening. All I could think about was what the guard had said. Two people died. Two people I had stood beside this morning, drove with last night, and yet complete strangers. What was I supposed to feel in this moment?

The door of the dorms opened suddenly, slightly jarring me from my mental prison. I looked up, shoving my coupon into my pocket. Two girls walked in, laughing. It took me a moment to recognize the sound as such. Originally, it only sounded like annoying calls like a bird or something. It burned me up inside, listening to them as they entered. It was only after I recognized it to be laughter that I tried to calm myself. They sat on the bed adjacent me.

"Hey, there!" one of the girls hummed.

She was plump, hair in two little buns of the top of her head like a knockoff princess Leia. She had a chipped front tooth which I all I could focus on when she spoke, which forced some spittle with certain words or letters. I wasn't sure if the bed she was sitting on was actually the one she claimed last night or if she was simply trying to interact with the only other person in the room aside from the girl she entered with.

"Hello." My voice sounded foreign.

"We had an easy day," the girl snorted, spitting a little.

"Nothing but boring stuff," the other girl grinned.

The other girl was skinny, hair dyed various colors, and the only person I had ever seen wearing large black boots with spikes on the toes. She looked like she was trying too hard to be punk. Her spiked earrings glimmered in the dim light, matching her devilish grin. She had climbed onto the bunk above the plump girl, leaning over to look at me.

"This job is gonna be easy," she hummed, popping some bubble gum she had somehow smuggled in.

"June and I got stuck with the boring stuff," the plump girl grumbled. "A rusty key, a random dude in a chair, a freakin' tree!"

"The tree was kinda cool actually," the punk girl – June – added. "it can copy anything. I got a sweet candy bar out of it. Got to wear a hazmat suit too."

I'm not sure that last thing was a good thing.

"We got a check on this tape. Didn't watch it though. Can't believe they still have VHS here," the plump girl shrugged.

"Me either," June groaned, rolling into the bed.

"I'm Margret, by the way, and this June," the plump girl offered, holding out a hand. "What's your name?"

I stared at the hand like it was some kind weapon. Nonetheless, I took it, shook it, and released. The two girls exchanged a confused look. My mouth felt dry when I opened it to speak. It'd been a while since I thought about introductions, saying my name to the class sort of thing. Name is the one thing no one could really take from you. I smiled lightly, feeling better. My name. I still had that.

The door opened suddenly, banding against the back wall. The three of us looked back, watching another woman enter slowly. She slammed the door shut behind her as she shuffled in. We watched as she walked right pass us, flopping onto a bed three down from us. We sat in silence, watching her.

"Fuck off," she eventually snapped.

"What's your problem!" hissed June, sitting up in the bed. "Day one and you're already done?"

The woman sat up quickly, revealing her disgruntled expression. Long hair that draped down her back, aside from one strand that fell above her blue eyes. A large scar ran down from her left eyebrow to her lip, moving jaggedly along her otherwise smooth skin. I could hear the gasp from Margret.

"Not first day, genius," the woman huffed. "I don't even know what day it is!"

"Sorry," June stretched the single word like it was taffy.

"This was the nearest quiet place, alright," the woman shrugged. "Newbie's dorms are typically empty during the day."

"What happened to you?" grinned June, leaning on the frame again.

"Wouldn't you like to know," snickered the woman.

She leaned forward, creaking in the bed.

"Rule one of this place, you're on your own. This means, what knowledge you do get, you keep to yourself, newbies. More you know, more valuable you are. That's all I'm gonna say."

She leaped off the bed, storming to the door. Throwing it open, she stopped in the doorway. A grin slowly slid across her cheek as she glanced back.

"Exchanging names? How silly. You ain't gonna be here long enough for that."

With that she left. Her presence and demeanor had left a sour scent in the air like something of an old trashcan. I felt sick again. Names. The last thing I could say I properly owned meant nothing anymore. I rolled over in my bunk, turning away from the June and Margret. Names again.

"Whatever," grumbled June.

I heard her lean back into the bed, head creating a puff sound as it collided with the pillow. I tried to keep my breathing quiet, making as little sound as possible. Not sure why. I guess, I just wanted to disappear completely.

"Weren't there more girls station here?" Margret spoke up.

I tightly closed my eyes, clenching my teeth. Don't say anything. Don't say anything. Don't say anything!

The door was thrown open yet again. I didn't move, still trying to seem invisible. The click of heels against concrete echoed as the person approached, stopping at our beds. I gulped, hearing her foot tap.

"Days not over, ladies," the woman snapped, foot tapping louder. "I need one of you to go down to SCP-1716. You, SCP-835. Do as you're told and don't screw things up. You!"

The tapping stopped as a hand grabbed my shoulder and forced me up. I wanted to cry. I refused to look her in the eye, watching her reflection in the concrete. She was dressed in a black pantsuit with a white lab coat drenched over her shoulders. Her glasses shielded her eyes. Her lip twitched as she grimaced at me. Her grip on my shoulder was tight to the point I wanted to scream.

"Need someone to feed SCP-2396," she hissed. "Simple enough not even a Class D can screw it up."

I nodded, still avoiding eye contact. She released me, but I could still feel her grip. She stepped back, allowing us to file up and out of the room. She shut off the lights and closed the door. Why couldn't I just be invisible?


	6. V

V

The last thing I expected when I was told to feed an SCP was a lovely woman, seated gracefully on the edge of small bed. Surprisingly tall, she looked down on me with lovely eyes, pink hair flowing downward. She smiled as I entered, motioning toward the table on the far end of the room. Given only the instruction to set the jug on the table, I moved to the far side of the room. She watched me carefully but made no movements. Setting the jug down, listening to it slosh, I turned around to see her lying on her bed, propped up by one hand.

"My dear, you look troubled," she hummed with a voice I could only compare to candy and glitter.

"I'm fine, ma'am," I replied, moving toward the door.

"I'm no ma'am. I'm miss Sweetie," she giggled, waving me off. "When a girl says she's fine, its typically the exact opposite."

"I'm not sure if I'm supposed to talk to you," I whispered, tugging at my sleeves.

"Then it'll be our little secret," she whispered back, sitting up.

She patted the spot on the bed next to her. I looked between her, the overheard camera and the door. I was given the simple instructions to deliver the jug and nothing more. It was still my first day and after hearing about the two others I was hesitant to so much as move toward her, let along sit beside her. She rolled her eyes.

"Would it be better if we swapped places?" she offered, getting to her feet. "You can sit on the bed and I'll sit at the desk."

She approached me and I could hear the alarms going off in my head. The wave she moved was like a fantasy, a dream. She moved with such poise and elegance that I hardly noticed when she passed me. I moved slowly to the bed, sitting with my hands in my lap. She sat in the chair at the desk, smiling at me. No one was stopping me so it couldn't have been all bad, right?

"Now, what's wrong?" she hummed.

"I don't know what I'm supposed to say," I mumbled.

"My dear, you've nothing to be afraid of," she giggled. She leaned forward, speaking in hushed tones. "I'm a girl's toy after all." She winked.

"I…I'm just having a long day," I offered softly, glancing at the door.

She raised her head, waving a finger at me. Apparently, this was an insufficient answer.

"Long day? That's pretty vague. Something specific is making you upset! You can confide in me. Just between us girls."

I blushed. This wasn't what I expected when I entered the room or the organization. I felt like I should be in my room, in my PJs, doing each other's hair and talking about boys. I noticed the smell of sugar plums. I looked up to see her tilting the jug back slightly. Having opened it, the smell of the liquid inside was beginning to slip into the atmosphere. She dipped a finger in, pulling it up to her lips.

"What would Miss Sweetie be without a little sugar?" she hummed, licking her finger. The contents seemed to be to her liking.

"Is that all sugar?" I questioned.

Her eyes darted to me, staring at me with such intensity that I felt like I was drowning in her pink gaze. I gulped, looking away. I should've left earlier. I felt I had overstayed my welcome. Her stare weakened as she blinked softly, returning to her peaceful smile. Hands on her lap, fidgeting with the ripples of her shirt.

"Oh, I'm sorry," she purred. "A little sugar to keep me going, is all. You're new, they must not have told you that."

I nodded, afraid to speak again.

"I'd hate to keep you," she sighed, shaking her head. "I don't want you to get into trouble."

I stood up, still tugging at my sleeves. I shuffled to the door, avoid eye contact until I finally managed to arrive. She waved me off. Opening the door, I was greeted by another woman researcher. She offered me a smile, nodding gently as the door shut behind me.

"You didn't do anything wrong," she prompted. "She's all good and well when it comes to women. Don't get me started about the problems with men and SCP-2396."

I simply nodded.

"She likes to talk sometimes."

"She said she was a girl's toy?"

How was that the only thing I got out of my time with her?

"Long story short, she's part of a big collection of SCPs called the Little Misters Collection. They're like toys but people," the researcher responded. "We've caught a lot of them."

"Really?" I perked, glancing back at the door.

"She's not even the weirdest one," the researcher winked. "Head down the canteen for dinner, then head to the assigner again. Days not over."

I was beginning to hate those words. Slumping, I exited the room.


	7. VI

VI

The rest of the day seemed like a blur of food delivery and standing with a tray so another person could take some tools and poke things. I was happy to sleep. It didn't last long. We were awoken just as abruptly as the day before. They lined the few of us up, marching us down to the canteen. It was surprisingly packed. People conversed happily, though albeit in a hushed tone. It was as if there were factions in the room and some were better than others. I found myself an empty end of the table, sitting alone with a mushed mess on my tray. I poked it with a fork. I think it moved.

"Hello?"

I looked up slowly, feeling already tired from the day. Readjusting to appear at least somewhat alive I was surprised to see the young anthropologist. She sat across from me, tray full of the same mush. My mouth hung open. I wanted to say something but couldn't find the words. That seemed to be my thing for today.

"You're the girl from the truck, right? Sat next to that sad old man?"

I nodded.

"Can you believe this place?"

"Didn't you leave?" I blurted.

"There was no other location," she cooed, wiggling her fingers. After a short chortle, she shrugged, "A few of us were sent back, is all. I made an impression I guess and was sent back this way for something."

"I see," I replied softly.

"Am I interrupting?"

It felt like my heart stopped in my chest. I was beginning to hate that voice. I glanced up, seeing Thompson leaned on the table, giving the anthropologist a smile and a wink. He pushed me down the bench, taking the seat at the end of the table.

"By no means," the anthropologist replied, waving her hands. "We were just talking about my return."

"You were sent to the facility not too far from here? Heard they had some problems with their containment procedures," he shrugged, still smiling. "Otherwise, a good day?"

"Yes. Long drives aren't always fun but it was nice to talk to the others. Meet people in similar situations."

"I understand," he nodded. "Days young! A lot to do!"

"I'm excited to get involved," she smiled. "I'm ready for my mind to be blown."

"If you're ready for it, it doesn't really work," he shrugged. "Assignment pretty simple today."

"You're the assigner?" She perked.

"For this group," he nodded.

"Oh, I'm so excited!"

I groaned, listening to the two optimistic tones continue. She didn't know the dark side that lingers in this man. Then again, I'm not sure I do either. I've only seen glimpses of his darker nature. I could feel the hair on the back of my neck stand up when I thought about him leaning in to speak to me yesterday.

"I'll be right back," the anthropologist perked, leaving the table with her tray.

Thompson looked at me, resting his chin on his hand. I glared at him. I don't know why but in some way, I was angry with him. It was either him or I was projecting this entire place onto him. He smiled.

"Something wrong, my dear?"

"Leave me alone," I grumbled, turning away.

"Oh, we're not talking now?"

I glared at him, taking a deep sigh.

"How can you be so…happy? People died yesterday."

He chuckled, giving way to almost a howling laughter, but he stifled himself. Slamming his fist on the table, he grabbed my chin and directed my face toward his. The worst part was that his eyes were not shadowed as they were before when his demeanor changed. They still glittered with a fire that made my heart sink. I miss my ignorance.

"People die every day, every second. You didn't care about them before so why should you now?"

I pulled away from him, trying to avoid his gaze. Heart racing, it felt like I was standing off against a lion. Focused eyes, ruffled mane, and teeth bare, I was questioning my survival against this beast, armed only with my limited faith. Lion tamers were better armed than I.

"I stood beside those people. I sat with them in a truck for hours! They were people who had families and friends!"

"Doesn't everyone?"

I bit my lip.

"I got to sleep for my first day and give a lady some sugar. Those two people got killed. Why did I get out of this unscathed?"

"That's a little selfish."

My mouth hung open but I had nothing to say in response. He grinned.

"You think you're so important that you deserve to die more than them?"

He rested his chin on his hand again, looking up at me with flicking eye lashes like a dreaming girl.

"You know why you're here? Our relations with the prisons is slightly disgruntled at the moment. You understand what that means, right?" He looked over at the lunch line with his eyes, poking his chin over. "Most of the Ds here are criminals. Murderers, thieves, rebels…You? That other girl? Those two idiots that died yesterday? You're just slightly above those criminals. You're bottom of the barrel. You don't get to be so self-serving."

"Why is me wanting to die instead of someone else being self-serving?"

"Selfish as in," he nodded, standing up, "you think you have a right to choose who lives and who dies."

I felt slightly dazed, staring down at my lumped mush of food. I stared at it long enough for everything else to fade away to peripheral vision, leaving just a grey mess. I could see each black spot, reflective shimmer from the overhead lights, and every movement it made without aid. I couldn't feel my breath, hear the surrounding noise, or move in any thought. I felt as though I was stone.

"Ready?"

I hadn't noticed when he left and the anthropologist had leaned up to snap me out of my thought. I hadn't eaten but at this point I wasn't hungry. Following her back to the main room, Thompson was waiting. The line was longer than yesterday, since the group the anthropologist was part of had returned to this facility. I eyed the ground. I'm not sure I was ready for the day. The group began falling apart as Thompson sent them out. Reaching the end, there were only three of us left: June, the anthropologist, and me.

"You three lucky ladies can follow me!" he cheered, spinning on his heels and moving toward the adjacent hall.

Moving like ducklings behind their mother, we clung close to his step. I glanced at the windows, hoping to get a glimpse of the outside world. Every glass panel only led into an empty office or lab room. The boring walls and darkened rooms were getting to me. I looked up.

It hadn't occurred to me until this moment but we were all dressed in uniform. White uniforms with black lines, black boots, white caps. The only odd one out was Thompson, who was dressed in tan pants, grey shirt and a flowing lab coat.

"I'd like to remind all of you of the securities in place at this facility," he spoke up suddenly. "In every room, every hall, there will be a camera." He pointed up at a camera we were passing. "They catch everything!"

He stopped suddenly, spinning on his heels to face us. Though he smiled, I could see the shadow in his eyes. His smile, baring teeth, became ominous as he looked at our little group of ducklings. I gulped, looking away. Did he know about my conversation with the SCP from yesterday?

"Everything, my dears," he reiterated. "Such as a taking something they shouldn't."

I perked, looking up. Not me.

He reached over, grabbing the doorknob to the room beside us. The door was solid black with no label. It seemed to give off a dangerous aura. I sighed, trying to not seem scared or anything. I wanted to seem flat. I hope it came across like that.

"Taking anything from SCP-038 is prohibited unless authorized," he spoke harshly, turning the knob. "I'm afraid you're going to need to go this way, miss."

June stood up straight, stepping out from the group. Attempting to stand toe to toe with Thompson, she was revealed to be much smaller than him. Her bubble gum popped. His expression did not change. He opened the door, letting out a small gust of musty air. June glanced in the room but remained unmoved.

"Whatcha gonna do, fire me?" June snapped.

"Wouldn't that be fun?" he hummed. "Please step this way."

"Right," June smirked. "And do what?"

His smile twitched slightly.

"You're being reassigned," he responded. "There's a few SCPs that require…'additional' experimentation. I don't know where you'll be sent, and, honestly, I don't care."

Two shadowy figures emerged from the doorway, grabbing onto June. She jumped as their gloved hands gripped her arms, lifting her off the ground. She struggled, kicking and pulling her arms. The two men carried her into the room, allowing Thompson to shut the door behind them. I gulped.

"She stole something?" the anthropologist spoke up.

"Yes," Thompson nodded. "Luckily, in this case it wasn't anything dangerous but we can't take any error lightly. You understand, yes?"

We nodded.

"Miss, you've been requested specially," Thompson offered, gesturing to her. "Right this way."

We continued following him down the hall, turning left and then the second right. I held up the end of the line, watching the anthropologist's hair bounce along her collar and Thompson's coattails rub against his boots. It created no noise but moved with such grace.

"Where will she go?" the anthropologist eventually spoke.

"They're starting up testing for SCP-004 again," he sighed. "Last few tests weren't very well, at least for the test subjects. Miss, you'll be right here."

We stopped by another door. This one was familiar with the plaque of to the side. Thompson opened the door quickly, revealing the familiar interior and man seated at his desk. He stood up, motioning for us to enter. I stood in the doorway as Thompson led the anthropologist in. She shook the man's hand and sat in front of his desk. They exchanged pleasantries as Thompson shuffled me out.

"What's happening?" I asked.

"She's getting a…promotion," he explained, continuing down the hall. "A girl of her knowledge and expertise could be useful for the time being."

"And me?"

He stopped. There were no doors near us, just empty walls. I took in a deep breath. He was going to say something condescending again. I was going to fight him. We were going to argue again over right and wrong. Sure enough, he turned on his heels, giving me a sly little smile.

"I'm giving you a choice," he prompted.

I didn't know how to respond, and he picked that up right away.

"At breakfast, we were talking about life and death," he responded.

"Right, I'm selfish," I groaned, crossing my arms.

"Exactly," he nodded, "You felt so bad that those two nobodies died instead of you, so I'm giving you an option today." He leaned in. "You can pick between SCP-1723 or SCP-049. SCP-1723 is considered safe. Nothing lethal. 049 on the other hand can be quite deadly."

"So, I get to pick?"

"Whichever you pick, I've got a guy to take the other one," he grinned. "You wanted to be the big hero, eh?"

"Why are you doing this to me!?" I shouted, poking him in the chest. "Why me? Aren't there some puppies you could be kicking?"

He chuckled slightly.

"You are a puppy, sweet heart," he snickered. "People come to this place already broken. You on the other hand seem to think you're gonna get out of this place in one piece. No one really _leaves_ this place. It will haunt you for the rest of your life. You either die to something stupid or something you never imagined **or** you'll get your mind wiped clean and left in the middle of nowhere. Life sucks. Give up."

I shook my head but didn't say anything.

"Pick."

I sighed, looking up at him. He seemed so confident, hands on his hip and smiling from ear to ear. I looked him dead in the eye and for the first time since I got here, I smiled.


	8. VII

VII

I could hardly breath as I was fitted into a cheap hazmat suit. Another man stood beside me, though his suit's head piece was thrown back, leaving his face exposed as he munched on a banana. I remember something I once heard from online. Want to seem like more of an asshole? Eat an apple. In this case, however, he wasn't eating an apple. I wonder if that made any difference? He glanced at me and winked.

"You new?" he munched, throwing the peel away. It landed nowhere near the bin.

I nodded. The suit was finished, and those that were helping us left. The small white tiled room seemed to be the standby room between the study room, where the scientists watched anxiously, and the containment room, housing SCP-049. I felt like a lab rat. The vault like doors hissed as they opened slowly, revealing a smaller room. It was similarly tiled, sporting only a hanging platform, which I assumed was a bed. Looking over the room, I almost entirely missed the black cloaked figure in the corner. Peering through the hood was the curved beak of a mask, eyes peering out from the holes. The door shut behind us.

"He's sedated, move," huffed the man, shoving pass me.

We were supposed to clean up, though the room seemed mostly clean. Several food trays were on the ground, close to the door, but were neatly stacked up. Some minor scrapes and smudges were on the wall, which I went to clean. Armed with a small sponge and towel, I scrubbed the wall until the colors were removed. All the while, the cloaked figure watched me, occasionally glancing to the other man.

"Hi," I whispered to the being. I couldn't help it. He stopped looking at me after that.

My hand slipped, dropping the sponge on the pile of trays. Attempting to pick them up, I froze, feeling a presence behind me. It was almost like a nightmare as my mind tried to figure out what was happening. Slowly looking over my shoulder, it felt like my heart sank. It wasn't the SCP. It was the man helping with the cleaning. His head piece was removed again. Completely turning around, I felt small compared to him.

"What…what are you doing?" I whimpered, feeling him lean closer. I wanted to scream.

He ran his finger down my cheek. I closed my eyes. Couldn't breathe anymore. Couldn't move. I could feel his presence, his breath on my skin. Warm, thick, with a sickening smell mixed faintly with banana. I couldn't help but think about what Thompson had said about almost all the Class Ds being criminals. His exact words. Murderers. Worse? I felt a fire in my chest.

"Get away from me!" I shouted, pushing him back.

He stumbled backward, into the figure's corner. Opening my eyes, trying hard not to cry, I saw as the cloaked figure's limbs emerged as he took hold of the man by his unprotected face. He gasped, eyes glazing over and body falling limp. Released, his lifeless shell fell to the ground. I screamed, pounding on the door. It remained locked. Crumpled against the metal door, eyes shut and huddled together, I sobbed, listening as the figure continued to move.

"Please…please no…" I whimpered, covering my ears. I had to be smart. I had to show Thompson up. I just _had_ to.

 **"** **I will cure him."**

The voice was thick, as if speaking through fabric, raspy as if hardly used. I dared not open my eyes. I dare not move. I could hear it move. The clink of metal echoed in the otherwise silent room. I could hear the scratch of fabric tearing. I dare not look. Something was gently placed on the ground.

 **"** **Do not interfere."**

I shook my head. I wasn't about to do anything. I could feel my heart, hearing it pound in my ears. The cool surface of the metal door seemed to dull my nerves, calming my panic and putting me into a false sense of safety. I could still hear movement. Was I going to die? It began humming.

I don't know how long I sat there. It felt like forever. After a moment, this horrible smell emerged. I wanted to gag, but I couldn't move. I heard the sickening noise of squishing and horrible movement of something possibly wet. I knew what it was. I didn't want to. I was feeling light headed. How long had I been here? Metal on metal clicking again. Something closed.

The door hissed, opening me and forcing me to the ground. Something grabbed my wrist, dragging me out. Eyes still shut, I lay on the floor, listening to the muffled call of those around me. After a moment of silence, there was a blast of what could only be gun fire. It howled, echoed and reverted off the walls, drilling into my head. I screamed again, tucking myself in tight.

Hands began grabbing me. I screamed, thrashing. I didn't know what was happening. I just knew I wanted to be alone. I felt tears rolling down my cheeks. My head piece was removed without consent. I kept screaming. People were talking around me but I couldn't hear anything. I kept my eyes shut. I finally ran out of air, panting as my body could no longer hold tight. My eyes slowly opened. I had moved. I was moving.

Carried in the arms of two men, I was being led down a hall that seemed to never end. I felt light headed. Lungs were burning. Body ached. My throat was dry. Tired. Adrenaline fading, I was growing tired. We moved in silence, my feet dragging as I struggled to get my footing. We reached the end of the hall, arriving at elevator doors. Entering, one of the men pushed the bottom button. The doors closed and we descended.

I tried to speak but my words got caught in my throat, coming out only as a gurgling sound. One of the men stood me up, patting my back. He was strong, almost patting my lungs out, though I knew it was supposed to be a comforting gesture, or at least I thought to think that. The doors opened to what appeared to be a cubicle farm. Upon entering the farm, it turned out to be more of a zoo.

Each 'cubicle' was a small, glass cell with a bed, toilet, and sink, covered with a near blinding overhead light. Only a few of the cells were filled with people. Some were screaming, pulling at their hair, clawing at their skin, or simply sitting in the corner as they stared off into nothing. Finding the next available cell, I was placed on the bed. The two men left. The sliding glass door closed.

I curled up on the bed and cried.


	9. VIII

VIII

The next few days moved in a blur. I was taken in and out of my new room multiple times. I had my blood drawn more than once. I had several scans across all my body. I had to talk to seven people about what happened in the room. I could recite the events by memory now. I could not forget them. I wasn't allowed to. I spoke with several doctors, or at least men and women in lab coats, blacked out glasses, and binders. Every day, they would leave me in the room without explanation. I don't know how long I've been here.

After an uncertain amount of time, the door opened but no guards came in. I sat up in bed, watching the open doorway as if staring at a dream. Eventually, someone entered. A bittersweet feeling sat in my stomach as Thompson entered. He looked around, seemingly avoiding eye contact. He wasn't smiling. No light in his eyes. He seemed vague. I laid back down.

"Hey," he offered.

I didn't respond.

"I…I'm sorry."

I sat up again.

He rubbed the back of his neck, still avoiding eye contact. He leaned against the door frame, arms now across his chest. He sighed.

"You weren't supposed to actually get killed," he grumbled. "I was just trying to prove a point."

"I know."

He perked, finally looking over at me. I must've looked like hell as he soon turned away.

"You're lucky," he chuckled lightly. "He usually kills everyone in the room with him when he's doing _surgery_."

"Surgery?" The word seemed fake. It was a lie. "What happened…was not surgery."

"I…We know. That's what _he_ calls it. SCP-049. He says he's curing people of…pestilence," he commented, entering further. "He's been doing a lot better after a weird thing between him and…another SCP. Guess you were lucky."

"I don't feel lucky."

Thompson lingered in front of me, eyeing the floor and mumbling under his breath. It was odd to think he was the closest thing to a friend I probably had in this situation, and I wasn't entirely sure Thompson was his first or last name, or even his real name. Names were meaningless in this place after all, right? Thompson sighed, finally raising his eyes with a scowl.

"I'm here…" he mumbled, "I'm here to take you back out."

Those words stung my very soul.

"No."

"You can't say no to this," he huffed. "You either come with me, back to work, or you get shot in the head and your body gets to be used for science. I, personally, would go with the option where you live because, well, living is important to anyone's well-being, right?"

"You even been down here?" I snapped, standing up. I felt like I had grown as I stood in front of him. Maybe that was just my imagination.

"No."

"I've been through hell these last few…days? Weeks? I don't even fucking know how long I've been down here! I saw a man die and ripped open right in front of my eyes and you expect me to just go back to work like nothing happened? This place is hell and you expect me to go back to it without at least a verbal resistant?"

"No. I expect you to make the tough choice."

I felt like crying, but I didn't want to. Not in front of him. He didn't deserve it. I felt my heart beating in my chest, pounding against my ribs as I panted in my anger. I could still feel the things presence. I could close my eyes and see the man die I the arms of that monster. I could feel it. It was real. It happened, and they were quick to sweep it under the rug like he never happened, but it happened. It was real.

"You'll be given simple jobs for the next few days. Feeding safe SCPs, testing safe things, like you did with SCP1230 and 2396. Easy stuff. You'll be seeing a doctor once a week for the next month or so…"

"Whatever…"

I marched out of the room. The cell. Who was I kidding, it was a cell. There was an elevator just down the hall. I was familiar with the floor's layout by now. Thompson trailed behind me. We reached the elevator in complete silence, riding it up several floors before reaching the old floor I'd started on. I let out a breath, somewhere between a sigh and a gasp. Everything was coming back in flashes. It wasn't just the events of late but everything to the truck ride to now. It was everything. My life to this point. It felt like I was going to die.

"Am I going to work right now?" I whispered.

"Yes."

"Where?"

"SCP 1723."

"That was one of the options…"

Thompson looked at me. I remained focused on what was directly in front of me.

"You gave me an option. 1723 or 049. I chose 049."

"R-r-right…"

We exited the elevator, walking down the hall, again in complete silence. I felt out of place, walking in a dream. People passed us. They didn't even look at me. Was I even real? I could feel Thompson beside me, his hand within reach of mine. I could feel his fingers twitch, inches from mine. Was he trying to say something?

"I'm sorry," he whispered, barely heard.

I didn't say anything.

He led me to a door. It was like all the others, labeled on the side with SCP 1723. He opened the door, revealing a small, elderly woman sitting in a wheelchair. She was just sitting there, head leaned back as if to look at the sky but her eyes were closed. She looked like your typical grandmother, worn by time and huddled together in her small frame. Thompson motioned for me to enter. I stepped in carefully.

"She sleeps mostly," he sighed, "but she does like to talk sometimes."

"Who is she?"

"She's SCP 1723."

"No. Who is she?"

He shook his head.

"I'm sorry," he whispered. "If you need me…just ask."

He stepped out, closing the door gently. I sat on the bed, watching as the elderly woman slept. This felt wrong. She was just an old woman; how did she wind up in a place like this? What could she do that these monsters dragged her into this place? I sighed, looking around. Such a small room. Bed, desk, toilet, shower, and yet it didn't feel right. A camera sat in the upper right corner, watching us with a steady red dot. I relaxed slightly. Oddly enough, this felt like the most normal thing I'd done since I got here.


	10. IX

IX

I sat in the mess hall, poking at my food with a fork. I wasn't really hungry, I guess. For a facility so crowded, I somehow sat alone. The hall bustled and echoed with loud conversations and laughter. How could they laugh in this place? I sighed, lowering my fork. My food looked like it had been chewed and spewed back out. Something white with pieces of brown embedded within the mesh.

"Hey, newbie…"

I knew the voice but it felt like forever since I'd heard it. The mysterious woman I'd met several days ago, the one with the scar stretched down her face. She sat across from me, leaned against the table with a smug grin. There was fire in her eyes as she smirked at me, finger nailed tapping on the table. I felt something tingle on the back of my neck. Something felt wrong.

"Heard you survived 49," he chuckled. "Sounds like you got lucky."

I wanted to repeat myself by saying I didn't feel lucky, but I decided it wasn't worth it.

"I survived some shit, too." Her personality suddenly changed, smile gone and face darkened. "I've survived worse shit than you'll ever know. You think you've been through hell, you don't even know, newbie. Wait until you come face to face with something you can't get away from, when you know you're going to die. You know there's no way out. Those! Those are the real heavy shit. Those are when you should feel lucky…"

"Kate!"

I looked over her shoulder, seeing a familiar face. Thompson was glaring at the girl across from me. He slammed his tray on the table beside her, eyes narrowed as they locked onto her. She stood up slowly, standing directly in front of him, noses within inches of each other. If the atmosphere was different, I'd expect them to kiss, but passed on the glare in Thompson's eyes, this might end the opposite way.

"You babysitting now, Thompson?" she huffed, nodding toward me.

"I'm afraid that's beyond your pay grade, Kate."

"Course it is," she shrugged, stepping away. She clapped her hands together, rolling her eyes. "Just welcoming her back to the land of the living…"

"You have work," Thompson snarled, watching her slowly walk away. "And if you want to keep your cushy Euclid job, I suggest you move."

She grinned, nodding as she continued to move backward. Eventually, she turned around, marching away with her hands in her pockets. Thompson sighed, sitting across from me. While his food looked equally as appetizing as mine, he somehow found the strength to eat it without hesitation. He took one bite and looked up at me.

"I'm sorry about her," he chewed. "She got caught up in an accident a year ago and really hasn't let it go."

"What happened?"

He shook his head.

"Out of your pay grade."

"What is my pay grade?"

He grinned slightly, shoveling another forkful into his mouth.

"I've got a good job for you today."

"Oh?"

"Safe class, real fun one, too, trust me."

Did I have another option?

"SCP-999," he nodded. "Don't let his looks fool you, he's a real softy."

"Never thought I'd hear that said toward an SCP," I scoffed.

"Not everything here kills you," he winked. "After we finish, I'll take you over."

"What is it?"

He smirked, leaning forward.

"Trust me, it'll be fun."

He ate his food while I continued to poke at mine. He convinced me to eat an apple at least before we left. The hall was full again, moving in and out as we headed toward the back of the complex. The people who passed us, leaving where we were headed, smiled and spoke pleasantly, happily waving at us and greeting us. I glanced at Thompson, and he winked at me. We reached a set of double doors, which Thompson opened gracefully.

The room was a large loading dock, repurposed into a makeshift pen as if for horses or cows. Instead of normal farm animals, the pen held a large blob of slime which wiggled upon us entering. A surprisingly bright orange, he began moving toward us, which was something like a water flowing out of a cup. Thompson shut the door behind us, gently pushing me forward as the thing approached. It stood – if you could call it that – before me, back end wiggling like a dog would wag its tail.

"This," Thompson chuckled, "is SCP-999."

"What is it?" I gasped.

"As far as we know, it's like a giant amoeba…with the personality of a dog."

"A dog!?"

"Touch him."

"No!"

"C'mon, he doesn't bite. He's safe class. Trust me, you'll feel better for it."

I groaned, slowly moving my hand forward to touch the substance. My hand gently rested on the creature, slipping ever so slightly into the slimy material. The creature let out a gurgle as if to cheer, back end wagging harder. Resting my hand on it though, I felt at ease. I relaxed. In this moment, for the first time since I got here, I felt good.

"The thing about SCP-999," Thompson began, "he can relieve stress and depression, even severe states."

The creature moved upward, nuzzling just under my chin. Two appendences slipped out, wrapping around me in a makeshift hug. I didn't care. It was nice and comforting. Everything seemed to slip off me, like shedding my skin. I closed my eyes. Everything was good.

"He's allowed to roam when he wants, and anyone can come play with him," Thompson continued. "A lot of people use him to relieve the stress of the job, you know. I figured you might like it after the last few days."

"Thank you," I whispered.

I felt something tickle my side. I laughed loudly, surprised by the sudden feeling. Thompson chuckled, leaning in.

"He likes to tickle."

Another tickle on my other side. I giggled again, wiggling in the slime shell that formed around me. Thompson stepped back, arms crossed as he watched the creature tickle me and I tried to stifle my laughter. I felt so relieved. Have I said that before? I was laughing. When was the last time I really laughed?

"Stop! Stop!" I snorted, feeling the tickles all over my body. I remembered playing with my father, him looming over and tickling my stomach. I hadn't thought about him in years.

The creature pulled away, slipping back into his pen and munching on something in the corner. Thompson stepped back to my side as I calmed down. I held my sides, smiling. I'd forgotten what I was worried about. If anything, I was hungry. Thompson rested a hand on my shoulder.

"Feel better?"

"Yes…very."

"I've visited 999 a few times myself. It's better than holiday leave."

"We get holidays off?"

"Some of us do…"

Thompson gently wrapped his hands around my shoulders, leading me back to the door. I watched the creature eat his food, though it occasionally looked up as we were leaving. It let out a whine as we approached the door, back end wagging ever so slightly. Thompson closed the door behind us.


	11. X

X

I feel like I'm being watched. I think that's expected in a facility like this, right? It doesn't make it any more unnerving. Simple tasks become pressured under the weight that someone might be watching, judging me. What would happen if I fail? I still remember what Thompson said back at the containment center. Shot in the head. Death was the only escape from this place.

"Hey."

I looked up, seeing Thompson approach me. I was getting used to his presence. He was becoming more than a handler and more like a friend. I still didn't know if Thompson was his first or last name, though at least it is used by multiple people, so I assume it is his actual name. Every time I see him though, I feel this cloud of impending doom fall upon me. No matter how happy he looked.

"How's it been? Easy stuff, right?"

"Yeah, easy. I feel like I'm a toddler again," I scoffed.

"Oh really? You want some harder stuff?"

That sent my skin crawling.

"No, I'm just saying I feel like I'm being babied."

"I understand that. They just don't want you to make any mistakes based on your experiences."

"Who is they exactly?"

He didn't answer.

"You said you wanted to talk about something," I sighed, moving on from the topic. "Don't tell me I'm getting into something hectic."

"Something like that," Thompson shrugged, pulling something out of his pocket. "Hold still."

He placed a small tag against my shirt, as well as some patches on my shoulders. He stepped back, admiring his work. I stood in silence, completely confused by what exactly just happened or its significance. He nodded, stepping back beside me.

"You've been promoted!" he nudged.

"What?!"

"It's not anything big. Class C now, but still…" he shrugged. "You'll be getting into some deeper stuff." He nudged my arm again. " _But_ , you're officially included in the breach protocol now. You get to be included in the safety bunker."

I don't know how I felt about not being included before.

"What does this mean, exactly?"

"Your access has changed. You get to be less of a test subject but more of an assistant. You also get to deal with some of the real freaky stuff," he winked.

"Yeah…" I groaned.

"Still Level one clearance though, so don't get too excited," he nodded. "But at least you're making progress."

"What class are you?"

He paused, like a deer in the headlights. You could almost see the gears in his head working, coming up with a clever divergence or lie. He eventually seemed to restart, relaxing and grinning again.

"Class B, just one above you."

I couldn't tell if he was being serious or not.

"Plus, you get a much better room and dining experience," he hummed, standing tall as if a member of royalty pleasing me with his appearance.

"What's with the badge and patches?"

"Keep them on when you work. It'll get you in and out of stuff," he waved a hand at me, looking around. "I'll introduce you to one of the most important people you should know."

He shuffled me down the hall like a child dragging their parent to an art project on the wall. We traveled a few floors up but eventually reached a neat hall with less security cameras than normal. A single door was open, labeled security. There were several people inside, but none looked up upon us entering. Thompson moved through them, approaching one at the back wall. He slid me to his side.

"Marcus!" Thompson cheered. "Have I got a person for you!"

Marcus looked like a ridge cop you see in movies, the kind that goes rouge or shoots first and asks questions later. His jaw was covered in a ruffle of grizzled beard, black against his dark skin. His eyes, deep and almost soulless, looked up at us. His lip parted, snarling at us. I felt a chill run down my side. Thompson beamed.

"Whatchu want, Thompson?" grumbled Marcus.

"New Class B, personal acquaintance," Thompson nodded, patting my shoulder. "Real sweetheart."

Marcus glared at us. With a grumble, he got to his feet, looming over us by a couple feet. He placed one hand on his hip as he eyed me up and down. I gulped. He grinned.

"Class B, huh? Get promoted or just walked in that way?"

"I…uh…"

"Promoted!" Thompson perked. "Had a run in with 49 and the higher ups moved her to asset."

"Dealt with 49 before. Cleaned up after his mess," grumbled Marcus, rubbing his jaw. "Ain't one of those possessed fellas, are ya?"

I shook my head, unsure what he was talking about.

"Marcus, here, is in charge of security in our area. He isn't the chief or anything but when shit hits the fan, you want to be on his good side if you want out on the first bus."

I nodded. Marcus laughed, it was hearty something you'd hear from pro wrestlers or something. He was a large man. I couldn't not think about it.

"Class Bs get out after A, Thompson, don't you forget it," Marcus winked. "If they fill the trucks before you show your ugly mug, there's no room for you in that exit."

"Speaking of exits," hummed Thompson, leaning forward. "When's the next drill?"

Marcus crossed his arms.

"You know I can't tell you that, man. Rules are rules. They call them surprise drills for a reason."

"C'mon. Help me out." He patted my shoulder again. "For the new kid."

Marcus rolled his eyes, letting out a deep sigh, but eventually he nodded.

"Tomorrow, 'round six," Marcus grinned.

"What code?"

"173."

"That's a rough one," Thompson groaned, rubbing his chin. "Things are gonna get bad."

"Last drill didn't end well," Marcus winked at me. I wasn't sure how to respond.

"Thanks, Marcus."

Thompson led me away. I felt like a doll. We marched back into the elevator where he finally released me. He seemed pleased with himself, grinning like a hyena as we descended. He nudged me as I stared at the wall.

"Tomorrow, early, meet me before breakfast," he instructed. "Drills are no joke. I'll help you out."

"What are drills exactly?"

"They test the security and response times. Test the containment systems. Make sure we don't relax in case of the worst."

"And 173?"

"The drill will be run as if SCP-173 escaped."

"Meaning?"

"Pair up," he looked over at me, still smiling, "and don't blink."


	12. XI

A/N

Rapid fire!

XI

The morning hit hard. I hardly slept, simply going over the idea of the drill in my mind. They never taught me what to do in a drill, and I wonder if that was the point for Class Ds. Thompson once said that if anything happened, he'd get away in a truck while the rest of us burned. Was this letter change really that big of a difference? I still got up as I was supposed to, got dressed, and moved to the mess hall like I was supposed to.

You could tell who knew what was coming and who didn't. A few of the people were close to the walls, no trays, hushed and looking at the alarm lights on the walls. The rest of the masses were hunched over their breakfasts, talking and living without worry. Thompson stood against the wall, waiting for me, arms crossed and his slick grin slung across his face. He nodded at me as I approached.

"Hate to start your new class like this but, hey, at least you'll start it off right," he hummed, sliding over so I could stand beside him. "Just follow me, and you'll be alright."

"What about them?" I motioned toward those sitting down.

"They scramble like eggs," he chuckled. "They'll probably panic. Some will follow the rest of us. The rest will flop like fish. Those ones will be cut out of the equation so to speak."

I gulped.

"Stick with me," he whispered.

I felt his fingers wrap around mine. My heart skipped a beat. Just as I looked up to meet his eyes, the lights cut out and red flash began. Alarms blared as a voice overhead began shouting.

 _"_ _Containment breach. Containment breach."_

Aside from the alarms, everything was silent. The doors opened, and people began filing out. Those at the tables sat in silence, whispering to each other as the voice continued overhead. My arm tugged as Thompson began dragging me out. The red glow followed us into the hall as we began to run alongside others. We were like animals, packed together without words and our hearts beating in sync.

"This way!"

Suddenly, Thompson pulled me down an adjacent hall, splitting off the pack. We slid down this hall until we reached the barely used stairwell. Thompson threw open the door, smiling as he did so. Still holding onto my hand, he continued to pull me up the stairs. I felt like a doll again, fumbling behind my keeper. Heart beating in my chest, echoing in my ears, I could hardly breathe.

"Where are we going?" I shouted.

"Unless it's a fire, the elevators will still work. The elevators are going to be full of other people. Stairs are better," he instructed. He glanced back at me. "We are getting on that truck out."

We pushed through the next set of doors, reaching the ground floor. I was growing numb to the echoing voice overheard, repetitive and dead sounding. It had to be a recording, right? No one would just be sitting somewhere and repeating herself over and over again. Kicking open another door, Thompson led me into a familiar docking bay. Day one. That seemed so long ago and maybe it was.

There were several large white trucks parked by the large doors. People were entering carefully and cautiously, guided by black-cladded security guards. No words were spoken and yet everything moved smoothly. They'd done this before, perhaps many times. Thompson sure seemed to know what he was doing. We slid into line for the truck. Thompson let go of my hand.

"Made it," he panted. "Not bad time."

"Now what?"

"Now, we get into a truck," he took in a large breath, "They drive us out a bit. We go to Denny's, eat breakfast and back by ten."

"And if we don't get into a truck?"

"We'll get into a truck."

We approached the truck's doors. I felt my heart pounding. The black-cladded security guards would check the people over, tapping at the tags and patches. I fumbled, feeling the name tag attached to my shirt, the prick of the safety pin. My fingers brushed against the stitching of the patches on my shoulders. They were there. I should be safe, but what if I wasn't?

"Hey, Thompson," grinned one of the guards, holding the door open. "New record, huh?"

"My thoughts exactly."

He entered the truck and to my surprised the door closed behind him. I gulped, feeling my stomach in my throat. The window rolled down, and Thompson stuck his head out. He was still smiling which meant good news, right? He glanced at the guard, motioning at him. The guard listened carefully as Thompson whispered in his ear. The guard nodded, stepping away. The window rolled up. The truck started up and began moving away. I felt like I was going to be sick.

"C'mere," instructed the guard, motioning to the truck over. "Don't worry, we still got room."

I let out a sigh of relief.

"First drill?"

"Y-y-yes…"

"Don't worry. You got here early." He looked over me. "You got your tags. You're good."

He opened the truck's door for me, helping me in. I sat in a cushy seat, casually seated beside others. It wasn't crowded or completely full, more like seats on a plane, even including armrests. People were laughing, joking about the confusion of the lower classes. I thought about the crowding in the cafeteria. Did any of them get out?

The doors closed, and the truck started up. I could feel the wheels beneath us move, driving us forward. I couldn't see out the windows. They were blacked out, creating a dark atmosphere which was broken by the conversations and laughter around the truck, so much as including the driver. Everyone seemed happy with themselves. Someone offered me a cigarette, which I kindly rejected. It began to smell like smoke regardless. Luckily, someone opened a window.


	13. XII

XII

Three people died in the drill. Trampled to death. They were all Class Ds. Though I didn't know any of them personally, I still felt a sting of sadness upon hearing they died. In a place like this, dying from such a simple thing seemed wrong. Were they given a proper burial? Were any of the people who died in this stupid hell hole given a proper burial? Would I get a proper burial?

I find myself spending more time with Thompson lately. We eat together, travel together and typically meet up at the end of the day. I couldn't tell if this meant we were friends or not. I mean, I don't think I've ever given my name. I'm not sure he cares. Regardless, we spend time together, though mostly in silence with the occasionally broken with discussion about work. I'd been having simple jobs recently, things like video tapes and simple papers. I never had to touch them or do anything with them. I simply had to make sure they were still there and still worked.

"I know I said you wouldn't be doing anything serious, but we need someone to do a little adventure," Thompson shrugged. "SCP-860 is deemed safe, but if you ask me it's still pretty freaky."

"Freaky how?"

He simple looked at me with an eyebrow raised.

"Freaky kind of freaky."

"What is it?"

"A key."

"A key? You're scared of a key?"

"I said it was freaky not scary! Besides, it's not the key that's the weird part. It's where the key leads that's weird."

"And you want me to go in?"

"Yeah. Just do as the scientist asks, and you'll be fine."

"Why me?"

He didn't answer. I felt like he wasn't telling me something, but I didn't object it. I was beginning to grow bored doing these simple jobs. A little mystery was exactly what I needed to get back into the groove of this place. It needed a certain mindscape in order to walk around the way Thompson does. I don't think I'll ever reach that space of mind, but that level of separation for others seemed necessary for this job in some fashion.

I was surprised to find myself taken out of the facility. We drove in silence, me, two white dressed men and a well-dressed female doctor. We traveled to a nearby village. It looked recently abandoned, probably from the arrival of the facility. There was already a group there. They were talking and huddled together, shielding themselves from the sudden rain. I didn't get an umbrella. No one offered me one.

They took me aside and put a jumpsuit on me. I was given a harness, a camera strapped onto to, pointed directly at me. They put a flashlight in my hand. Finally, they placed a headset on me, though the microphone rubbed against my cheek. They said I would be speaking to a doctor. I don't remember her name. I don't think it mattered.

I was given a blue key. It didn't look special in any way. The texture was smooth. The surface was scrapped up and cut as if it had survived years of use. They put it in my hand and led me to a door. It looked as though the door led to a simple house. Everyone stepped back, leaving me in front of the door. I gulped, sudden panic setting in. Why did I want this again?

 _"_ _Insert the key."_

I jumped at the sound of someone over the headset, but I didn't reply to her. I did as instructed, slipping the key into the door's lock. It wasn't rough or forced. The lock clicked. Grasping the handle, I opened the door slowly, not sure what to expect. I wasn't expecting a forest. There was a small, worn path in the dirt, surrounded by tall, skinny trees. An eerie blue mist coated the floor, fogging the overall view and making me gulp again in fear.

 _"_ _Enter."_

Of course, I was supposed to enter. I felt my feet slowly lift, stepping off the stone path leading to the home onto the dirt path. My boots squished on the surface as if the dirt was freshly pressed. Taking two steps in, the door slammed behind me. I jumped, stepping away as I watched the wooden door blended into the stone wall. I ran my fingers along the wood. It felt normal. Relaxing.

 _"_ _Continue down the path."_

"Where am I?" I whispered.

 _"_ _Continue down the path."_

I slowly turned around, walking down the path slowly. As I walked, I felt like I was being watched. I couldn't shake the feeling, but I was fearful to look. I simply walked. I wasn't filled with enough fear to run. I kept my head down and watched my feet along the path. I could feel my heart beating. Why was this so terrifying?

What was that? I reared my head up quickly, hearing the echoing roar through the woods. My heart racing. It was as if someone was whispering in my ear. I couldn't tell if it was good or bad or what its intentions were but I kept moving. I reached the end of the path. On the endless concrete wall was a wooden door just like the one I'd entered through. I reached for the handle but I felt that presences behind me again.

 _"_ _Subject-1, proceed through door."_

"Do you hear that?"

The whispers were back. They weren't bad or good but they were there, continually playing in the back of my mind. Calling me. I looked around at the trees, trying to find what was watching me. It was watching me. Something. Someone. I closed my eyes, listening to the ambient noise of the woods. I could feel the gentleness of a breeze, hear the whispers of the woods, feel the mud beneath my feet. Peace and yet panic. The two were intertwined into a complex emotion I couldn't even begin to explain.

"Subject-1, proceed through door."

I sighed, opening my eyes. I placed a hand on the iron handle, opening the door as instructed. It opened into a small home, two rooms either side of a staircase leading to the second floor. I looked around in awe at the simplicity of it. I closed the door gently behind me, listening to it click against the frame. I hadn't been a home, a real home, in such a long time I'd forgotten the feeling of it. Comfort. Peace. I could imagine a family living here, children running around, the smell of dinner cooking, light conversation. Home.

I turned around, reopening the door. The scientists looked between me and their notes. I was ushered away, harness and headset ripped from me. I held onto the light. I'd forgotten I still had it. It didn't seem dark enough for it and yet it probably would've helped to use it when searching for whatever was watching me. What would I have done if I did find it, though?


	14. XIII

XIII

I stepped into the dorm, switching out of the jumpsuit into the typical drab we're forced to wear as lower class. I couldn't wait to reach perhaps a high enough class to wear something more casual than this military uniform. The boots were starting to hurt, and the white was hard to maintain. I was not prepared, however, to bump into Kate upon entering. She glared at me with a sickly grin upon her lip.

"Hey, pup," she hummed, stepping back. "How's the so-called promotion going?"

"What's that supposed to mean?"

She snickered, placing a tight hand on my shoulder as she drew me in.

"Thompson might have pulled some strings to make you look the part but you're no better than the rest of us Class Ds. He can block you every now and then but when it comes down to it…you're still stuck doing the dirty work for people like him."

She released me, throwing me back slightly. With a scoff, she shoved passed me and left. I rolled my eyes, hoping it would hold the power to ignore her and what she'd said but it ultimately did not work. I struggled to remove the jumpsuit, hearing her voice in the back of my head. Ripping the jumpsuit off me body, I heard the roar I had heard in the woods. I felt the breath lodge in my throat as I listened to the echoing call of a monster. I stumbled, falling back onto the bed, gasping for air.

"Not…not real…" I panted, rubbing my eyes.

Side effect. They mentioned that, didn't they? I moved to stand up but found my hand run along something papery. Looking down, I lifted a thick paperback book, looking similar to a phonebook. The cover looked like a catalogue out of the 60s. In large letters, "Official SCP Sales Catalogue" titled the book. Looking around, I wasn't sure what to do. Looking around, I found myself alone in the dorm room. If I left it here, someone might take it. If I took it with me, I might be accused of stealing. Neither option seemed good in a place like this. I decided not to take it and talk to Thompson.

I found him a few halls down, talking to another man dressed as a scientist. The two's conversation stopped as I began approaching. Thompson seemed to be pleading something before the scientist left but the latter didn't seem interested. Thompson groaned, turning to me with a fake smile. He leaned against the wall, trying to look relaxed and cheeky as for usual.

"Hey, what's up?" he hummed.

"I found something in the dorm, and I wasn't sure what to do exactly…"

"What'd you find?"

"Something titled the _official SCP sales catalogue_ …heard of it?"

I could see Thompson's face drain of all color the second the words left my lips. His eyes grew wide as he opened his mouth to say something but only wound up stuttering sounds. He shook his head, grabbing me by the hand and dragging me down the hall. His grip was tight, tighter than he'd ever gripped me before. My feet stumbled to keep up with him. We rounded a corner, entering a familiar office, though I hadn't been in it in days.

"Thompson, what is it?" the man spoke sharply, standing up.

"We have a breach."

Thompson spoke those words with such deepness and darkness that I couldn't breathe for a moment. The man opened his mouth as if to speak but said nothing. His mouth closed suddenly as he gave Thompson a nod, sitting back down. He tapped a button on his desk before leaning back.

"What?"

"The catalogue."

"Where was the last sighting?"

Thompson looked at me. I guess it was my turn to speak.

"The female dorms," I mumbled.

"You left it there?" the man nodded.

"Yes, sir," I gulped. Time to find out if this was the right thing to do or not.

"Very well."

 _"_ _Sir."_

Apparently, the button he'd pressed was a form of intercom. The voice on the other end was Marcus, I had no doubt about that. He sounded so serious as compared to the conversation Thompson and I had had with him the other day. I suppose this was a serious situation.

"We have a safe class breach. Last seen Woman's Dorm. Check the area," the man instructed, holding down the button as he spoke. He looked up at me. "Was there anyone else in the room with you at the time? Coming or going?"

"Kate…" I whispered, looking at Thompson. "That girl, the one with the scar across her eye."

"I'm familiar with Kate," grumbled the man, leaning back in his chair. "Her sanity and loyalty has been called into question many times."

"You don't think she…" I gasped.

"I have little doubt," growled Thompson, shaking his head. "I also have little doubt she knows she's found out. She'll lie low if not leave entirely."

Without warning, I felt like I was being watched by something beyond my vision. My breath picked up as my eyes focused on the wall directly across from me. It wasn't that anything on the wall was particularly interesting, it was just my mind going blank. I felt like I was falling. I heard a howl in the distance. Something was coming. Something was coming for me.

"Hey!"

Thompson shook my hand, and I felt as though I woke from a nightmare. I looked over at him, feeling weary and out of sorts. Thompson looked me over, eyebrow raised in curiosity. I offered my best fake smile and nodded as a sign that I was okay. He slowly looked away, though he didn't look convinced.

"Security will look into this," the man continued. "In the meantime, we'll have to double check our containments. We can't be certain what Kate is planning, but we must be prepared for anything and everything."

"Yes, sir," Thompson nodded. He nudged me.

"Yes, sir," I repeated.

I had a feeling of impending doom.


	15. XIV

XIV

I was somehow glued to Thompson's hip during this entire search. They checked the dorm and found nothing. Checking security feeds found nothing either, not the catalogue or Kate. It was as if they both disappeared. Security got stricter, keeping many Class Ds within certain locations without much to do. It felt like we were being contained. I watched as these people were cluttered together, talking and questioning what was happening. They were like animals in a cage.

"Is this really necessary?" I whispered.

"We need to find her before she gets someone she shouldn't or worse," Thompson huffed, "she'll hand it off to someone else."

"Someone else?"

"The foundation is not shy of enemies," he nodded. "She might've been converted."

"I didn't realize that could happen."

"It's happened before but the foundation is good at covering its tracks."

I looked at him. Thompson seemed to mature since I first met him. He was serious. The bouncy, cheeky personality was being overshadowed by this incident. It was as if he was once a boy and now a chiseled man. He didn't look much older though, but the fire in his eyes had changed. There was something else there.

"Did she say anything to you last time you saw her?" He perked, nudging me.

"Yeah…" I whispered, looking away.

"What'd she say?"

"That you lied to me."

He didn't seem phased by this.

"You'll have to be more specific."

I wanted to laugh but I couldn't shake the seriousness of the moment.

"You lied about my promotion," I explained, looking up at him. "That I'm not what you said. I'm still Class D, and that you're faking this."

His mouth hung open, the fire in his eyes going out. He looked away, muttering under his breath before covering his mouth. It was true then. He'd faked all of this, but why? I crossed my arms, eyeing the ground.

"Was I getting too boring for your old tricks?"

"No, that's not it…"

"Trying to teach me some other lesson? Was the last one not enough?"

"No, that…that's not…"

"Why, then? Why!?"

He spun around, grabbing my shoulders and leaned in real close. I could feel his panting breath on my skin.

"I almost got you killed, don't you get that!?"

I opened my mouth as if to respond but couldn't find the words.

"I…I almost got you killed because of some stupid…stupid idea that I was better than you…" he slumped his head, fingers relaxing on my shoulders. "I…I was stupid. I was used to the routine but I couldn't…I couldn't…"

"You felt bad for me…?"

"You weren't just some blank face," he whispered, pulling away from me. "You were…you didn't deserve it. You were just trying to help people…Isn't that we're supposed to be doing here…help people?"

"I…I don't know what to say…"

Thompson stood up straight but still avoided eye contact with me. He bit his lip, eyes looking around as if to anchor on something real to hold himself up. I wanted to reach out and touch his shoulder lightly, but I couldn't find the energy or the will. I wasn't sure he deserved it.

"So, what's all this stuff?" I grumbled, pulling at the tag and patches on my uniform. "Do these mean anything?"

"They mean everything!" he gasped, turning back to me quickly. "They aren't fake. They work! When it comes down to it, they'll get you out of the thick stuff."

"But not testing?"

He groaned, hand on his forehead as he again looked away. His eyes were watered down, putting out the fire that once consumed them. He was truly broken over this. I still wasn't sure how I felt.

"I can get you out of some of it…" he sighed. "I couldn't get you out today. I couldn't but I got you out of others."

"Like what?" I snapped.

He didn't answer.

A fire was burning in me.

"Like what?" I shouted.

"1471, 96, 173…49," he mumbled.

"I was…I was supposed to go back to 49?" I whimpered, covering my mouth. The fire was put out in my soul.

"But I got you out," he perked, grabbing onto me again. "I mean all you had to do this week was simple stuff and the hardest thing was 86. That's better, right?"

"But you lied to me," I groaned, shaking free of his grasp. "You lied to me before and continue lying to me now. How am I supposed to believe anything you say?"

"Please…"

"No!" I shouted again, stepping away. "Give me my job like you're supposed to! I can't…I can't keep feeling like I'm getting special treatment from you. I don't even know you. You don't even know my name!"

"Please, listen…"

"No!"

This probably wasn't the best time to run away, but I did. I ran before I could start crying. I was confused and hurt, but I don't know why. Why did I care about this guy's opinion so much? Why did getting out of deadly trouble hurt me like this? I almost died and now Thompson was looking out for me. Shouldn't I be flattered? Shouldn't I thank him? Why wasn't I? Why was I so angry at him right now?

I ran for a bit, turning every now and then. With security checking every containment, I was free to run the halls unhindered and without question. I ran for a while until I ran out of breath. I held onto the wall, shambling forward, completely out of strength to argue over what I was doing in my head. My hand gracefully slid along the metal walls, feeling the bump of each slab moving onto the next.

My hand moved off the metal onto something sticky and wet. I lifted my head, looking at my fingers running along the red puddle along the wall. I jumped back, holding my hand as if it'd been damaged. The red dripped from the wall, leaking onto the ground, pooling around the slumped body of a security officer. His black uniform was beginning to stain with red. I covered my mouth, seeing the hole directly in the center of his forehead, revealing layers of skin, bone and brain. I felt sick.

"Well, well, well…"

I looked up, turning to my left. In front of large vault doors stood Kate. She held a gun in one hand, pointed directly at me. I felt my heart stop, breath stuck in my throat. She grinned. I'd never seen anything like it. The light in her eyes, curled upon her twisted grin. I didn't know what to do.


	16. XV

XV

I held my hands up like anyone in a movie or TV show would when a gun was pointed at them. Kate laughed, throwing her head back. Her cackle bounced off the metal walls, echoing and rattled over my body. I could still hear the roar behind it. Feeling watched. Now was not the time for side effects.

"What are you doing?"

Why the fuck did I say that?

Kate looked down at me, rolling her eyes.

"I'm creating a containment breach," she shrugged. "Nothing special."

"You're going to get a lot of people killed."

Why am I still talking?

She laughed again.

"A lot of people? Criminals and spoiled idiots are what you mean. No one will miss them," she snapped, "like no one will miss you."

I wanted to cry or scream or something. I wanted my last moment to be something instead of just sitting here with a gun pointed at me. I wanted to stop her. I wanted to run. Something! I can't die just standing here! She pulled her gun back, shrugging.

"I'm not going to shoot you, pup."

"Why?"

"Because," she grinned, stepping forward. "I have a better plan."

I stepped back, stumbling over the feet of the guard and landing on the ground. Impending doom. Wasn't that what I described earlier? I gulped, seeing her tower over me. She grinned, reaching down to grab me. I felt her presence over me, almost overpowering the sound of footsteps behind me.

"Kate!"

We both looked back, seeing Thompson standing with a gun aimed at her. His eyes were narrowed, shoulders rising and falling with each breath. Her smile relaxed as she stood up straight. She threw her gun behind her, raising her hands into the air. Thompson stepped forward, standing beside me. He offered me a hand.

"Are you okay?" he asked without taking an eye off Kate.

"I'm fine."

He helped me to my feet without looking away from her. She was still smiling. Something was wrong. Something was still going to happen. Thompson stepped around me, approaching Kate. He pulled from his pocket a handful of zip ties, several falling to the group.

"Why, Kate?"

"Why what?"

"Why do this? Why go through all this trouble?"

"Why not?" She snickered, rolling her eyes. "This place is a hell, even you can agree to that, Thompson. I'm just showing it how it really is."

"What SCPs do you have? Which did you release?"

"Release? A few…"

Thompson approached her cautiously. He moved to subdue her, armed with his zip tie. I saw her smile grow, looking like a beast baring fangs. I wanted to shout, but it was far too late. She pulled a knife from behind her back, digging it deep into Thompson's back. His scream stopped, gurgling as he choked on blood. Kate shoved him back, allowing his body to collapse. His body was still moving though. He was still alive. For now.

"SCP…" she panted, throwing her ruffled hair back, "3411-J. Seems stupid but when you really want to kill someone, it's the best thing to use."

"No!" I finally found my voice, rushing over to him.

I placed my hand along his back. I could feel every labored breath as blood left the hole in his body and slip over my fingers. Warm. Why was that my first thought when it was covered in fresh blood. I could hardly muster my voice.

"Thompson," I whispered.

"Don't worry," she huffed, stepping over his body. "You won't have to watch him die."

She grabbed me by the hair, dragging me. I tried to pull away, struggled as much as I could but my strength was nothing compared to her. She pulled a key from her pocket. It was nothing special, like the key I had used earlier in the day. She pressed it against the vault door. There was a slight click and the doors began opening. She stepped over to the entrance.

"Rule one, pup," she hummed, throwing me in. "Don't blink."

I didn't dare turn around as the door behind me closed. I knew that rule. I knew this SCP. Since my arrival, I'd heard about it so many times over. I never wanted to meet it. I never wanted to be standing here. Even my nightmares dare not tread here. I felt my eyes lock onto it in the corner of the room. It didn't look as dangerous as it was made out to be, but I wasn't about to take that chance.

It looked like it was made of papier-mâché, painted horribly along the back and face. The face was covered in splattered red, though a part tried to hold onto the lie that it was paint I knew the truth. Its behind was smeared with a mix of colors. The floor was covered in brown and red, smudged into a horrible assortment of colors. It smelled dreadfully. I could hardly breathe.

Don't blink.


	17. XVI

XVI

I stood still, like a deer in the headlights, staring forward at the monster in the corner. It didn't move, didn't breathe. It was a statue. A stature that could kill me without so much as a second for me to regret. I blink. I die. I couldn't let that happen, at least for as long as I was able. I didn't know what else to do but freeze. I could feel every muscle in my body ache, my eyes burn, heart beating in my chest, the breath slowly leaving my lungs. I wanted to scream or cry or something but fear kept me locked. Frozen.

My hand grazed the metal door behind me. If I could open it, maybe I could escape, but I couldn't look at what I was doing. I had to feel my way around as I shuffled along the door. Reaching up, I felt a control panel. My heart skipped a beat. My fingers tapped the panel, and I listened to the beeps as my movements incorrectly pressed against the plate. Error. Error. Error. I couldn't look at what I was doing. What I would give to escape this hell! My eyes were burning. I needed to blink. I couldn't blink. I blink, I die.

"Please," I whispered, "I don't…I don't want to die…"

The door behind me shook, sliding out from behind me. I fell back into the arms of a larger man. He gripped me tight as three gun barrels appeared beside me. Finally breaking line of sight, I looked around at the men around me. Three men were aimed at the SCP while the fourth was holding me, shuffling me backward and out of the room. Once the five of us had exited, the doors began to shut. It felt like forever as it closed. We stared. We stared until the vault doors completely closed. I finally shut my eyes, falling into a fit of tears and shuttered sobs.

"Hey kid, you okay?"

I looked up at the man holding me. Marcus. He pushed away, leaving a hand on my shoulder. The three other men took positions pointing at the hall. The bodies still littered the hall. Blood soiled the floor. It smelled of piss. There was only one thing missing.

"Thompson!" I gasped, gripping onto Marcus' arms. They were big. "Where's Thompson!?"

"Few of my men took him to med before Evac. We need to leave, now!"

"What's happening?"

As if on cue, an overhead voice began shouting over the intercoms.

 _"_ _Site is experiencing multiple Keter and Euclid level containment breaches. Full site lockdown imitated."_

Marcus nodded, motioning to his men. They began moving forward, guns first and ducking around corners. Marcus stayed beside me, hand on my shoulder as we rounded corners, looking around before me. I'd hope such procedures were not needed but I had a feeling things were much worse than I'd previously imagined. The lights were flickering, struggling to remain on as we marched through the endless hallways.

"What's happening?" I repeated, looking up at Marcus.

"Multiple breaches. Not sure what all's out, but things look bad. They're getting the big brass out, but the rest of us are left cleaning up the messes. Goal is getting out alive while the place shuts down," he instructed, pausing at a corner. "Didn't realize things were this bad. Gotta get Thompson and anyone else we find out of here. Gotta keep the casualties low this time around."

"Causalities…" I whispered.

"Warning!" one of the men announced. "SCP-372 spotted in Section 7. Orders?"

"Keep back, lock down the area just like everything else. We're getting out of this place!" shouted Marcus. "Move to med bay and prepare for medical Evac."

"SCP-682 spotted at Gate B," announced another man. "Helicopters in pursuit."

"Stop reading things off to me, Brian! I get that things are shit!" Marcus howled, storming passed. "Orders remain. Medical Evac."

We rounded a few more corners before finding ourselves in front of a doorway, a door hinging on the frame. The guns perked, aiming at the doorframe. Marcus took point, pushing me back. Hiding behind the group of men, I watched them enter cautiously. There was shouting. Then nothing.


	18. XVII

XVII

I ran in, feeling left out and panicked. No one fired a shot luckily as the only man in the room was Thompson armed with a small pistol. Marcus lowered his gun, motioning for the others to do the same. Thompson painted, relaxing.

"Marcus, you gave me a heart attack," Thompson gasped.

His chest was wrapped up around the shoulder, arm thrown into a sling. With the wraps and the sling, the doctor appeared to have forgotten to give the man a shirt. Thompson groaned, sitting up and leaving the makeshift bed he'd been given. Marcus chuckled lightly.

"World's going to shit and you're worried about a heart attack?"

"Gotta worry about something," nodded Thompson.

I reacted quickly, rushing pass everyone and wrapping Thompson in a hug. I thought he was dead. He let out a loud group, followed by a whimper. I realized I was wrapped around his wound, pressing his arm against his chest. Pulling back, I couldn't help but feel my cheeks burn red. Why did I just do that?

"How you doing, pup?" whimpered Thompson. He looked up at Marcus. "How bad is it?"

"Bad. We kept 173 in containment but hard to say how many she let go…"

"How'd she get the codes?"

"She's got 005. Unlock anything, right?"

"Shit."

Thompson found a button-down shirt, slinging it over his shoulders like a makeshift jacket. He groaned as he moved but eventually found a somewhat comfortable positon for the shirt to hang on his body. Marcus nodded, motioning for his men to head back out. Thompson reached out, placing a hand on my shoulder.

"This is why we drill," he chuckled. "Stick with me and Marcus and we're good, eh?"

We began out the hall, carefully stepping over a few scattered bodies. Each was mutilated in different ways, ripped apart or looking as though nothing was wrong. Some still had their eyes open, mouth hanging loose as if they died in the middle of a scream. Marcus would kneel to these people, gently running his hand down their faces and closing their eyes. He would then stand back up and lead us.

"Alpha priority incoming," alerted one of the men, tapping his headset. He lifted his head slowly, looking at Marcus. "096 loose…"

"Eyes down people!" Marcus announced loudly. "You look at this thing in the eyes and you won't live to tell the tale!"

"What is 96?" I pleaded, looking to Thompson.

"Think of it as the opposite of 173. Just don't look at its face."

We continued walking, eyes on the floor. I wrapped around Thompson's free arm, clutching tightly as if it would provide additional protection. He didn't make any additional noise that would indicate pain, so I kept ahold. We stopped at a crossroads. Marcus stood in the center, looking at each hall.

"This is the worst kind of horror movie," grumbled one of the men. "I've seen how these things end. Most people don't make it out alive."

"Don't say that man!" gasped another man.

"Shut up!" ordered Marcus. He pointed ahead. "Keep straight."

"Did you hear that…"

My heart felt like it stopped. I could hear the slow footsteps along the ground, echoing in the empty halls. The guns lifted down the left hall. Marcus motioned for Thompson and me to step back. Marcus motioned for one of the men to move forward. Doing so dutifully, the man moved further in the darkness until we could no longer see him.

"Matthew? Matthew! Respond!" Marcus shouted.

What followed was a horrific scream that echoed in my ears, shuttering in my brain. The scream was beyond description. I couldn't put it into words. It was followed by the should ripping, squishing and gurgling. After the initial sound, they began to echo in the halls as if repeated continually. Marcus and his team moved forward.

"Confirmed, Euclid Level SCP," Marcus nodded. "Possible SCP is likely previously mentioned 96. Team is moving to intercept and contain to prevent further incident."

"Marcus…" whispered Thompson.

The team moved further into the darkness. I could hear screeching. It sounded like crying. A child crying. I wanted to look up, to go to it. My mother always said I had motherly instincts. Thompson tightened his grip on me. Someone screamed. The noises were back. The screech howled, and I felt my heart begin racing again. Thompson grabbed my face, forcing me to look directly at him.

"Close your eyes!"

"What…!"

"Close your eyes, now!"

I shut my eyes tightly. I felt a chill pass through me. I could hear movement again. I held my breath. I could still feel Thompson holding onto me. It was somehow warming. My fingers tightened around his. Something moved passed us. I could hear it move, scrunched over and shambling by as if in pain of some sort. I gulped, trying to slow my breath and calm my heart. His hands relaxed around mine.

"You can open your eyes now…"

I opened my eyes slowly, looking up at Thompson. He was looking down the hall where Marcus and his team had travelled down. He sighed, turning back to me. The fire normally in his eyes were out, leaving a hollow shell.

"We need to move," he whispered. "Unfortunately…we need to move that way."

"No," I pleaded.

"I'm sorry. It wouldn't be as bad as you think…" he sighed, taking me by the hand and leading me down the hall.

We marched down the hall, and I expected to see bodies of mutilated bodies but all that was there was red smudged across the floor and walls, even a small puddle on the ceiling. My boots squished on the puddle. I groaned, trying not to focus on it, but I knew what I'd just stepped in. Who I just stepped in was a different question.


	19. XVIII

XVIII

The hallways seemed dark, swallowed by shadows and barely lit by the blinking of overhead red spotlights. All that felt certain was Thompson's hand in mine. I could feel it tighten and relax with each corner we rounded. I felt my breath in my chest, in sync with my beating heart. The adrenaline pulsing through me, it tingled in my body. How long had we been walking?

"Thompson, where are we going?"

He groaned, favoring his injured shoulder as we rounded the corner now. No pain medication and probably poorly patched up, he must be in great discomfort. I could feel his grip tighten, transmitting the pain onto me. I couldn't grimace though. I had to be there for him, like he'd sheltered me prior to this point. He still lied to me, though. I'm not sure I'd completely forgiven him for that but I'm beginning to understand it at least.

"Wait," Thompson stopped, releasing me.

He pressed his fingers against the wall, smearing away more blood. There was a sign on the wall, labeled for a specific containment. Pulling away the layer of blood, he revealed the yellow sign of SCP-049. I felt my heart skip a beat as I stepped back. I hadn't been here in so long, but I could still see it. That witch doctor gripping the neck of that man. The life draining from his face as the bird mask leaned in. I could a roar in the distance. The two were not connected.

"I know…I know where we are now," Thompson nodded, turning to me. "Follow me!"

He grabbed my hand again, pulling me down the hall. It was at that moment, seeing through the glass, I noticed the door open. Oh God, the door was open. I gripped onto Thompson tightly, looking around. It was loose. It was somewhere among the darkness. Somewhere.

"Thompson! It's loose! It's somewhere!" I gasped, pointing back.

"I know! I know! Everything is getting loose," he grumbled. "We just need to reach the docking bay. Maybe we still have time…"

"Well, well, well…"

We stopped, seeing Kate emerge from the darkness. She aimed her gun at us but seemed less amused as before. Eyes narrowed, she glared at us, gun posed in shaking hands. She tried to grin but couldn't maintain it. Thompson pushed me behind him, using his good arm in front of me. They were shaking. The pain. It might've been taking a toll on him.

"You can't even die right, Thompson," she snarled, stepping forward. "Let's try this again…"

"Like I'll let you kill me twice," huffed Thompson, grinning slightly. "You couldn't even do it right the first time."

She looked broken in that moment, eyes shielding a burning fire of rage as she lunged forward. Thompson leapt forward to but dodged her initial jump, ducking around her and kicking her back. She shouted, spinning around to confront him again. Turning around, she was met with a knife to the chest. She choked, staring into Thompson's eyes.

"You left something with me," he whispered. "Let me return it…"

He pulled it out only to reinsert it into her body. She choked again, gasping for air each time he removed the knife. The blood dripped onto his hand. His shoulders heaved, panting breath and eyes glassed over. He dropped the knife, stepping back. She collapsed at his feet. His head slowly lifted, looking at me. He opened his mouth as if to speak but it only came out as stuttering noises. In that moment, the knife seemed to vanish.

"I…I just…" he whimpered, grabbing the sides of his head and smearing blood along his cheek.

"Thompson," I whispered, stepping around her. "We need…we need to leave, Thompson."

I reached out, but he pulled away. He again began stuttering, looking around and eventually looking down at his hands. Blood. He was in shock. I'd seen it before. I'd lived it before. I stepped closer, reaching out to grab his arm. He looked up, eyes watering.

"We need to move."

I turned him around, gently moving him down the hall. He leaned on the walls, smearing blood along the white surface. I put a hand around his back, and he grimaced in pain as my fingers reached the wound in his back, but I needed a better way of leading him. We shambled down the hall, turning where he instructed until we reached the ever-familiar loading bay. The open space was comforting, but the lack of vehicles left a lingering doubt.

"They've left already," I gasped.

"No…"

I pulled him to the door beside the docking bay doors. There was a loud bang that echoed through the facility. Thompson stood up, tapping against a control panel beside the door. With a creak, the door opened slowly. We moved out, blinded momentarily by the sun. Outside seemed so bright and full of life. Green grass, blue skies, slight breeze. It was nice, but it didn't take away from the panic inside.

"We can't walk the whole way to the city," I groaned, holding Thompson up. I think I was losing him.

"We can't…" he repeated, voice slurred and low.

"Wait! The truck! The one that dropped me off. Are they still here?" I gasped, looking around.

A small hanger-like bunker was nearby but dragging Thompson proved it to be farther than I thought. Forcing the doors open, I found the familiar green army truck. With a sigh of relief, I forced Thompson into the passenger seat, buckling him in and giving myself a moment's rest. A thought occurred. It wasn't the brightest thought but it was one I intended to follow until told otherwise. I slammed the passenger-side door, leaving Thompson's unconscious body in the seat.

"I'll be right back," I whispered.

Foolishly, I reentered the building, looking around. I wanted one thing. I had to save it. Luckily, I knew the way from this bay. My first day. A day so deep in my memory. I ran, unhindered by anyone else. I slipped on the floor but didn't fall. It was a simple mission, one I'm not sure why I wanted to complete but I was determined. I was going to make it.

I found the metal door, which I was able to open with minimal force. I saw the window overlooking the worn, green bound book. Reaching the door leading into the adjacent room, I found it locked shut. Locked tightly. Ramming into the door proved impossible, simply leaving me sore. Stepping back, I looked at the window. Another horrible idea.

I wound up and punched straight through the glass. It splintered and shattered around my fist, cutting me open in various placed down my arm. I whimpered, holding my hand as I climbed over the wall now leading into the adjacent room. I used my not bloody hand to pick up the book, cradling it gently in my hand. I clambered over the wall again, scrapping my pants and sleeves. I moved out the room, looking both ways to prepare myself to return to the truck I'd left Thompson at. Freezing, I spotted at the end of the hall another figure.

 **"** **Greetings."**

I felt my shoulders heave with my breath as the plague doctor stepped through the shadows, a fallen body at his feet. It twitched and seized as if it was bordering life and death. I held the book closer to my chest. I had to get out of here. I had to get to Thompson. I had to.

"Hello," I replied softly. I don't know why I responded. "Thank you."

It tilted its head, beak reflecting the flicking light. I began stepping back, preparing to run if I needed to. It didn't move, merely watching me from a distance.

 **"** **Continue on this path and the pestilence might find you, child."**

I nodded. I didn't exactly know what he meant but I knew the general. If I kept going in this place, as part of the foundation, I'd find my death here. The doctor lowered himself again, continuing work on the body beside him. It stopped moving. I turned around, running away. I could the roar of something in the distance, as if an echo in my mind. I couldn't tell if that the containment breach or the side effects I was still suffering from.

I reached the light of day again, glad to find the grass still green, sky still blue, and breeze still filtering the smoke though the air. I ran to the bunker, entering the truck. I threw the book onto Thompson's lap, buckling up. Key. I cursed under my breath, unbuckling. There's no way I'd find a key in this chaos. Luckily, my brother was less than a good person. I crouched down, ripping a patch of the car off to see the wires. I tore two wires, forcing them together in sparks.

"Come on…" I groaned. "Come on!"

The engine growled to life, puttering unhappily. Wrapping the two wires together, I sat back up and rebuckled. Slamming on the gas, the truck launched forward, traveling at great speeds away from the bucker and the facility. The scenery passed us quickly, far too fast to keep track of. My breath was easing. We were escaping.

The roar echoed through my mind incredibly loud. I screamed, feeling it pierce my train of thought. Without thinking, I jerked the wheel, forcing the truck off the road. The sudden turn rocked the truck, forcing it over. My voice escaped me us the truck tumbled, crumpling and shattering. My body thrashed around in the movement until finally, I simply passed out.


	20. XIX

XIX

I woke in a white room. A small beep echoed in the distance. My body ached. I couldn't feel my hand. Eyes fluttering, I slowly looked around. A small bag dripped into a tube connected into my arm. The linen I was wrapped in was smooth, clean. I raised my hand slowly, touching my head. Bandaged. I touched my other hand. Bandaged. If anything, I was in a hospital. A nice, safe hospital. I relaxed into my pillow.

The door opened. I raised my head as a black dressed man entered. Sunglasses reflected my image as he raised a gun. I gulped but I almost felt at peace with it. I knew too much after all. I'd seen too much. I shut my eyes, accepting what was about to happen. The door opened again.

"No, no, no," someone chuckled. "Max, wait outside."

I opened my eyes. I'd never expected to see her again. The anthropologist entered, waving the man away. He grumbled, tucking his gun away and leaving. She smiled at me, shrugging. Sitting across from me, she placed her hands on her lap, looking at me with soft eyes. Her smile was equally so.

"Hello, again," she smiled. "Never thought I'd see you again. Probably thought the same about me, right?"

"Where…" I groaned, feeling my throat sore.

"A hospital a few towns over. It's overseen by the foundation," she explained, looking away. "You're lucky to be alive, I supposed. Especially out of that mess at the facility."

"How?" I huffed. "How did we get here? The truck…"

"Oh, that thing got wrecked!" She laughed, waving a hand. "Didn't think either of you guys were going to make it but I'm here anyway!"

"Either…" I sat up. "Thompson."

"He's a few rooms down," she nodded. "Doctors surprised he survived the stab wound, let alone the crash."

I relaxed. He lived. We both did.

"Mind if I ask a few questions?" she hummed, readjusting in her seat.

I nodded.

"Are you aware of how many SCPs escaped containment?"

"No."

"Which SCPs did you see during your evacuation?"

I thought things over.

"I saw SCP 3411…and SCP 5. They were both with Kate."

"Any apart from those with D-78549?"

"SCP-49…I saw him before I left."

"Was he operating?"

"Yes."

She nodded gently, looking away.

"Do you know the whereabouts of D-78549?"

"Kate?"

"Yes."

"She's dead."

That seemed to catch her attention.

"Can you confirm this?"

"She was stabbed multiple times."

"But can you confirm she died. Heart beat stopped, kind of dead."

I shook my head. Since when does multiple stab wounds not confirm death? The woman leaned back, nodding. Eventually, she laughed to herself, leaning forward.

"I don't suppose we've ever actually been introduced properly, right?" she offered. "Though, I don't think names mean anything in this line of work. You can't tell if they're real or not."

"Your name?"

She leaned back again.

"Call me Monica."

"Is that your real name?"

She shrugged.

"And you're Rebecca."

I opened my mouth to speak but she quickly covered me up.

"As of now, your name is Rebecca Starling." Her tone deepened.

I nodded.

"Several security members are unaccounted for. Can you confirm or deny any security teams' deaths?"

"Marcus," I whispered. "Marcus…and his team. They, uh, died."

"How?"

I shuttered. I didn't really know for sure but I had the general idea.

"SCP-096."

She nodded, looking away. After a moment, she began digging in her interior pocket.

"May I ask one last thing?"

She pulled from her pocket the small, green backed book, placing it on the table beside me. It had a small stain of blood on the side.

"Why did you recover this?"

I looked at her, searching in my thoughts to find a correct answer but was left without anything that truly covered my reason.

"It didn't deserve it," I whispered.

"Deserve what? Containment? Being left behind? The possibility of its destruction?"

"I…I don't know."

"Very well."

She motioned toward the door, and the man came back in. He posed his gun at me, but still I felt at peace with this choice. I'd rescued Thompson. I rescued the book. I wasn't going to be used as fodder for those twisted experiments I know are happening. Without hesitation, the man spun the gun and handed it to Monica. It was such a weird thing, putting a name to her. A name that might not even be her own.

"Do you like working at the Foundation?"

"Are you serious?"

"I supposed that is a dumb question."

She placed the gun at my bedside, within arm's reach.

"What would you do to get out of this line of work?"

"I don't understand."

She gestured to the man beside her.

"Shoot him."

I perked, sitting up further away from the stabilizing pillow behind me.

"Shoot him," she motioned to him again. "And you will go free with a large sum of money at your disposal. You will be given a Class B level amnesia pill, which will wipe all memories of what you've been through these last few months. You will go back to life as you once knew it without memory of the Foundation or anyone you met here. You will go back to life."

I reached for the gun, holding it in shaking hands.

"All you have to do, is shoot this man."

I held the gun up, aimed at the man in front of me. He didn't flinch, didn't move. He seemed unfazed by what was happening. He was really willing to die based on this choice. My hands continued to shake. I bit my lip. My finger twitched around the trigger. I closed my eyes. What was I supposed to do?


	21. XX

XX

I sat beside Thompson's bedside for days. He laid unconscious for two days. They told me my hand would heal quickly, especially since nothing was broken. I had a large cut along my forehead, one that would stretch from my widow's peak down to my ear, barely clipping the edge of my eyebrow. There was a chance some of the cuts along my hand would scar too, but it was highly unlikely. They had high hopes for me. They didn't have the same hope for Thompson.

He woke briefly on day three. He muttered unintelligently, eyes unopened and hands flailing. After a moment of such movements, he slipped back to sleep. The nurses said this was a good sign. He slept for another few days before waking up again. This time he spoke intelligently, though mostly in mumbles. He spoke about work, about me. He said multiple times that he didn't want to die. He slipped in and out of these conversations but ultimately, he wasn't fully conscious. After a week or so, he finally woke up.

"Hey," his voice was rough from lack of use.

"Hey," I replied softly.

"How long have I been out?"

"A week. Maybe more."

"Your head…"

His hand slowly raised, pointing to the patch on my forehead. I tapped it gently, still feeling the sting when touching it.

"Not as bad as it looks," I answered. "Could've been worse, I guess."

"That's good," he nodded, looking around. "They show up yet?"

I nodded.

"They'll shoot us," he whispered. "It's procedure."

"I know."

He turned to me, eyes widened. I looked behind me and found Monica and her guard standing over me. She was smiling, arms crossed as she looked down at us. Thompson sat up as best he could with all the tubes and wires attached to him. He frowned, glaring at her.

"Fancy seeing you here," he sneered.

"Now, now, Thompson," she hummed. "I'm not here to do what you think."

He relaxed back into his pillow, panting from the will it took to sit up. I rested my hand on his shoulder. He looked at me, smiling lightly.

"So, you're not here to kill us?" he huffed. "What are you here for?"

"A simple test," she replied as the guard handed her the gun.

She tossed it onto him. He took it up quickly, pointing it at her with hesitation. She didn't seem fazed by this, nor the guard. She even chuckled, rolling her eyes.

"You want out of this, Thompson?"

He lowered the gun slightly.

"What do you want me to do?"

"Shoot her."

She gestured to me. I perked, looking between her and Thompson. His eyes darted between us, hands shaking as it held onto the gun. Eventually, he let out a deep sigh, turning the gun toward me. His eyes were pleading, but there was nothing I could do. I relaxed my shoulders, simply looking at him. He shut his eyes. I heard the trigger pulled back, followed by a click. I was still there. No pain. I opened my eyes.

Thompson's hands were shaking, but the gun was still pointed at me. I could see tears in his eyes. He lowered the gun before finally throwing it onto the ground. It clattered onto the tile, bouncing once before skittering across the floor. Monica leaned over and picked up the gun. She clicked it back, pulling the ammo pack out. It was empty.

"That desperate, eh, Thompson?" she purred, looking up at him.

"We both deserve it," he whispered, looking at his hands.

"Too bad," she chuckled, handing the gun off to her guard. "Foundation has stuff for you to do."

"What now?" he groaned.

"Since the site is being reconstructed, many of our agents are being reassigned to other sites," she explained. "However, you two have a special job. You'll like it, Thompson, it's a manager job."

"Why do I get the feeling I'll regret this…"

"You'll be going between sites and SCP locations in order to verify containment and reestablish protocol."

"So, you're assigning us to field agents?" he snapped. "Field agents are the going nowhere assignments!"

"Would you prefer I shot you?"

He grumbled, looking away. I guess he valued his life just a little bit. He glanced at me, eyebrow raised, before turning back to Monica.

"We're being partnered?"

"Yes. For now."

"How long?"

"Uncertain."

"How well's the pay?"

She giggled which I couldn't tell if that was a good or bad thing. She waved her guard out. He marched out and shut the door as silently as he exists.

"Once you are within acceptable conditions, you will be given your first assignment."

"Which is?"

She shrugged.

"I can't tell you at this time."

"Of course, you can't."

"Enjoy your bed rest," she hummed, stepping into the doorframe. "You two are in for a fun road trip."

Continued in SCP: Crossroads


	22. Promotion

SCP: Crossroads is officially posted!

Here, our main cast will explore more location based SCPs and other parts of the Foundation lore. Picking up almost directly after the previous book, this sequel should be a fun road-trip and another interesting piece to write. I hate to write a promotion chapter but I worry that some of the more dedicated readers will miss out on the new piece! I know I had a fun time writing this one so I'm excited to get into the next one. Who knows, maybe I'll keep going on from there. For now, let's just enjoy a new chapter of the SCP journey.


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